Coffee + Run + Yoga on the Beach = ahhhhh

I woke up to the smell of strong coffee and the sound of....nothing. The quiet enveloped me as morning sun shined through the skylights. Coffee, quiet, sleeping past 6 a.m.....I must be in Maine.

After a few cups of coffee and a slice of toast, I forced myself to do a little reading for class (this week's book is nowhere near as compelling as last week's) before heading out for a run. I'd put on my running clothes as soon as I woke up, so there'd be no bailing out on this one.

The interesting thing about running is that almost every time I head out, I feel like I'm doing it for the first time. I have that stupid hesitation of, "what if I can't even run a mile?", followed by settling into a familiar rhythm, followed by that good old feeling of exhiliration and a racing heart. It baffles me that I've been doing this for 13 years and it still so often feels new to me.

It was pretty cold this morning and my fingers were numb. The wind drew tears from my eyes and my nose felt frozen. I ran down Long Sands Road, now almost desolate and devoid of beach goers and surfers but for a few hearty, down-jacketed walkers braving the icy shoreline. Last time I ran along this stretch it was August, sunny, and hot. The beach was packed with surfers and families and leather-colored retirees who'd been there since May. You could barely cross the street, let alone find a spot on the sand. Today, in sharp contrast, you could have sat in the middle of the street, undisturbed for hours. The beach was barren, grey and quiet. The overwhelming feeling was one of solitude.

As I kept running I thought about the good fortune we have in New England, in that we are able to experience seasons. They give us structure and a demarcation of time, a cyclical sense of life moving forward, but coming back to those same familiar points each year. And it's not just a matter of putting up or taking down Christmas decorations or shoveling snow; it's the sensuous experience of smelling the salty summer air or crisp autumn wind, hearing rustling leaves or ice crunching beneath our feet, tasting the first ice cream of summer or the first hot chocolate of winter, and feeling scratchy woolen sweaters, stretchy bathing suits, rubbery flip-flops, or cozy scarves and mittens. The whole body and mind experience the changes in season, and we don't have the chance to become complacent with one before we're awaiting the next.

Back on the beach after running five miles and several hills, I had warmed up significantly. There were a few people walking along the sand, and an almost silent comeraderie among us as we inhaled the refreshing cold air and savored the serene horizon of the Atlantic. My mind felt clear and peaceful, my body felt energized and strong, and my spirit felt renewed. Moreover, these feelings occured synergistically, and I was acutely aware of the harmony of mind, body and spirit. To me, this is the closest thing to Heaven on Earth.

On Meditation, Friendship, & Reflection

It's been almost a full month since my last "real" run. Struggling through a few miles on the treadmill each morning has become my pathetic routine, and I barely remember a time when I woke up, piled on several layers of fleece, and actually ran for an hour or more along the dark, icy, snowy streets of Boston. But as I finished off a fun Saturday night with friends and headed home to bed last night, I knew I'd be running the today.

This morning - a clear, wintry Sunday morning - brought spring-like weather and dressing for an outdoor run felt completely natural to me, like I hadn't missed a day. As soon as my feet hit the pavement, it was like being in the embrace of a long-lost friend. That feeling never goes away.

So much to think about as I headed towards the hills of Newton and enjoyed the sunshine glaring off the melting snow. This process of "discernment" through which I am traveling is at times exciting and at most other times exhausting, overwhelming, and totally confusing. Guess what I have figured out so far? I don't know what I want to be when I grow up!

In the Christian sense, Discernment (with a capital "D") is a term used to describe the process of finding God's will for one's life, in particular, married or single life, religious or secular life. In the broader sense, it is the act of seeking insight and understanding, and, I might add, purpose. This seems to me like something anyone can do, whether they are spiritually inclined or not, whether they believe in God and God's will or not. For me, the process of discernment has been a journey of discovery and a time of trying to figure out what it is I am "called" to do or "meant" to do. What is it that is in my heart to do? What kind of work or life will bring me happiness and satisfaction and joy? I don't mean ease, I mean profound joy.

It is said that sometimes not getting an answer is your answer, and much of my journey has felt like that. As I try to listen to what I'm being called to do, I get frustrated and impatient that there are not clearer signs. Is it to much to ask for a billboard along the Mass Pike that will tell me my purpose in life? ;) I'm finding it a challenge to listen - to God, to the universe, to my heart - and I'm working on that. How do I know what to listen for? How do I know when I'm being "spoken to"?

So I keep searching, and one of the things that I have learned for sure is that it's like casting seeds to the wind. I don't know which of my ideas or connections will take root; the important thing is that I am making these connections and sewing these seeds of ideas, and looking for fertile ground that will nourish and grow my ideas.

What is this fertile ground? Right now, it is the support of my close friends and family, the people who listen to me and nudge me forward, encouraging me to take risks and listen to my instincts. It is the serendipitous conversations with strangers that leave me asking myself something and pondering it for days. It is the meaningful and fleeting connections with people I know, though maybe not well, that awaken an interest in me and push me to learn more.

And there is the dry earth, so to speak...the places where my ideas do not take root, the places where a door closes and an opportunity is lost, the moments when a relationship changes or a possibility withers and I'm aware that whatever it is I was pursuing is not going anywhere. But these moments, though painful, are equally important as those that encourage and inspire me. These moments push me to redirect my path and see what else may lie ahead, knowing that sometimes that can be done only if I let go of what lies behind.

I run 3 miles more than intended - up over Heartbreak Hill, past St. Ignatius, and down Lake Street. It feels like Spring and I'm completely recharged, knowing that what lies ahead can never really be known, and knowing that what lies behind can only be learned from.

Night Running

Night running has never really been my thing. In 13 years of running, I could count on one (gloved) hand how many times I've run after 9 a.m. There's something almost mystical about running in the early morning hours as the city wakes up, and then having the whole day ahead.

Heading home from an all-day meeting yesterday I knew snow was coming. It was 4 p.m. and the snow was rumored to start around 6. Winter twilight approached and I looked forward to a cozy night with books and movies as the snow accumulated outside my window, but even though yesterday was scheduled to be my off-day and I didn't plan to run, something made me want to head straight home, throw on my fleece and thermals, and head out for a short run. Maybe to burn off a little energy before settling into 24 hours of being snow-bound? I figured I'd do a quick run up to Brighton Center and back before it got dark.

The cold air didn't bother me as I stepped outside and, after being in a windowless meeting room all day, the fresh air and winter light felt refreshing and invigorating. The air was brisk as I trotted carefully over the icy sidewalks towards Oak Square; my breath evened out, my mind became clear, and the running reverie began.

Though the sidewalks were covered with weeks worth of frozen slush and snow, my trail shoes braced me and I was careful to guard my center of gravity. The salsa and bossa nova on my ipod seemed ironic as the frozen snow crunched beneath my feet and the cold winter air stung my fingertips. But soon enough I was warmed up, even sweating, and in a groove. Ten minutes became twenty as I ran through Brighton Center and did my little homage to Rocky and blasted up and down the steps of Brighton High School five times. The plan was to turn back at this point, but I wasn't tired. I felt invigorated and recharged and kept running. For the first time in my life, I understood why people like running at dusk. The sky grew purple as the afternoon daylight faded into dusk, and all around me city lights came on, people drove home, streetlights brightened sidewalks, and we all braced for snow.

My thoughts wandered as I reflected on the day I had just spent with people from a planning committee at church, talking about the notion of community building and outreach. We brainstormed and shared ideas and challenged each other's notions as much as our own as we reasoned over what people are seeking, how to reach out to them, and how to be present with and respectful of each person's faith, experience, and journey. As I continued running I recalled individual conversations I'd had with people throughout the day - people quite different from me in many ways - age, stage in life, background, career. But each person listened to me, and every one of them seemed to understand exactly where I was coming from and precisely where I was. As I listened to them I knew that a common thread tied us together, and it was a bond far greater than working together or being the same age. It was enormously comforting to be surrounded by people who 'speak my language', for lack of a better expression.

The more I thought about it, the more I was moved by not just the realization but the profound experience that no matter where we are on the spectrum of faith, career, family, and life, we are all really in this together. We all feel this searching and seeking and yearning to be part of something and to be understood, and when that searching and seeking and yearning is heard or validated or celebrated, it is more powerful than anything.

We all experience joys, sorrows, satisfaction and defeat. Though we may experience these emotions in such different ways, we're human. We laugh, we smile, we cry. We all feel pain and we can all understand happiness. When we are lonely or grieving or lost - and who hasn't been? - we are not really alone. When we are searching and confused and bewildered to the point of tears, we are still not alone. Because this human experience bonds us, and there will always be someone out there who really, really hears you.

An hour later I was approaching my front door. Somehow I'd run six miles. Anything I seemed to have worried about during the week didn't matter that much anymore, and even though I was alone, I knew I was part of something.

Happy New Year

It is 13 degrees outside. Last night bestowed on us the gift of one final snowstorm to usher out 2008. The snow covered the city with a pristine, white blanket as if to cover up those things from 2008 that we'd rather forget and let us welcome 2009 with beauty and optimism, looking out on a snow-covered street still untouched and untarnished by human hand and human doing.

It seemed so appropriate to welcome the year with a run, even if it was freezing out and even if it would be a short run. No matter what, running just felt like the right way to start this year off. A little exercise, some time to reflect on the year behind and the year ahead, a little Vitamin D from the sun that was brilliantly glaring off the snow. So I put on 18 or so layers of assorted thermal and fleece clothing, dug out my warm, fuzzy gloves from the Dollar Store, and prepared myself for the blast of icy air I was about to encounter. And guess what? It wasn't that bad.

I toyed with the idea of changing up my route but decided that there was something meaningful (I don't know what...) about sticking with my traditional loop on this New Year's Day. Something comforting in this familiar drill of running up Washington St. and heading towards BC. Something reassuring about running through the streets that have given me a sense of community and neighborhood for the past five years. It proved challenging as I contended with icy sidewalks, slushy roads, and my sleepy body, but the challenge of it soon gave way to that familiar rhythm of meditative peace, healthy exhilaration, and quiet contemplation. Even if I've been away from running for a while, this is what reminds me of why I like coming back to it.

I let myself think about 2008. Traveling to Jamaica for a service trip, to Turkey for vacation with my parents, and Costa Rica with my sister and two friends. Visiting one of my best friends in West Palm Beach, one in L.A., one in NY and another in Arizona. Meeting in person one of my heroes, Fr. Greg at Homeboy Industries in L.A. Getting hooked on trail racing. Appreciating the craziness, warmth, and humor of my family. Commissioning a piece of art which now hangs in my living room. Learning to tithe. Running a half marathon with my sister. Learning to sew. Being graced and blessed by new friends. Becoming an aunt to a beautiful baby girl. Continuing on a path of personal and spiritual reflection and growth.

I approach 2009 with high hopes and an open heart. I have the feeling it will be a year of tremendous growth and change, and I know that those things do not come without challenges and sometimes, aches and pains. But as with running, we train, we take the risks and we get ourselves to the starting line, knowing that the payoff is a sense of joy and happiness that words cannot describe.

Christmas Run

Maybe one of the best gifts of the day was waking up a little later than usual, making lattes with my sister, and heading out for a Christmas morning run. Sunny, windy, cold but not freezing. A beautiful morning for a run, and even though I didn't feel like I had a lot of energy for pounding the pavement, we cranked out six miles before heading home to get ready for the rest of the day.

Running is truly a gift. It gives me health, strength, and a sense of fitness. It gives me time to think and reflect, space to breathe, and room to move. It gives me energy and tranquility and well-being both physical and mental. And all it asks of me is that I occasionally get out of bed while it's still dark out and dress like I'm heading into an Arctic zone...

Running on Christmas morning with my sister gives me a chance to reflect on where the year has taken me physically, spiritually, and emotionally. I discovered trail running and quickly got hooked. I finally found a church that I like and feel like I have a spiritual home. I ran several races with friends and met new people at church as I became involved with the pastoral council and spiritual direction. It is no coincidence that for the first time in five years (since I returned from living abroad) I feel like I have found community. I'm part of something.

There is so much that I question - about life, about faith, about running. My uncertainties used to stress me out, and sometimes they still do, but as I continue on my faith journey, and as I continue embarking on new adventures in running, I realize that no one has all the answers. No one has done it all and seen it all. The gift and the beauty in this process of discovery is that there is always something more to uncover and experience, and even the moments of confusion and struggle are ultimately periods of growth. What a gift.

Costa Rica - Christine, Ben, Jess, and Alyssa's Great Vacation Adventure

Monday, 15 December 2008

Left Boston at 3 a.m., parked at Logan, and proceeded to wait in the longest line ever, with each passenger checking at least five refrigerator-sized suitcases and carrying on several purses, backpacks, laptops, cosmetic cases, and small, wailing children.

After a stopover in Miami we finally arrived in San Jose and were greeted by our rental car agency. Processing and signing the papers took about as long as writing a novel, but at last we got the keys to our 4x4, loaded our backpacks into the trunk, and hit the road. By “hit the road”, I mean “drove straight to our hotel in a dark and slightly questionable neighborhood, checked in, and passed out.”

Tuesday, 16 December 2008

Either because of the time change or vacation-induced excitement, Christine and I were both up long before 7 a.m. and dressed for a run soon after. The sky was bright, clear, and blue. We tried to head away from the main drag but somehow kept finding ourselves deeper and deeper within the highly-trafficked rush-hour crush of people, cars, and bicycles. We walked and talked, catching up on recent weeks, work, and life in general. When we were finally able to run for a few blocks, we broke out into a jog that earned us more than a few stares and buenos dias’.

San Jose seemed a little grungy and not particularly charming - lots of potholes, rubbish, and buildings that look as if they were made out of matchboxes and scotch tape. We enjoyed people-watching and peeking into store fronts, but the gritty, torn up sidewalks were barely a match even for trail shoes, and the car exhaust seemed to stick to my skin. But after many hours of travel, even a grimy run felt good; just getting out in the sunshine and working up a sweat felt refreshing.

We ate breakfast on the terrace by the hotel pool and after fueling up on cafe con leche, plantains, fruit, and beans and rice we hit the road for Lake Arenal and the thermal baths that awaited. After a day of driving and a little delayed jet-lag, we soaked away our aches in the Ecotermales and slept like corpses at our volcano-side lodge.

Wednesday, 17 December 2008

We tried to run, but even our best efforts were no match for the sidewalk-less road where cars, trucks, buses, and mopeds threatened to send us flying into a roadside ditch. After a few minutes of hoping we'd somehow stumble across a sidewalk or run-able side road, we abandoned the mission in favor of walking back to the lodge for breakfast. Though I was really hoping to start the day with a few miles on the roads, coffee, yoga, and a little meditation by the pool were not a bad second choice. As I've been told, sometimes the best run is the one you don't take.

Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday...

I could write more about the zipline through the rainforest, the hot springs, the beach, or the Christmas procession that went on for four hours. I could write about the cafe con leche strong and sweet enough to lull me into a gently caffeinated state of bliss each morning; the fresh papaya, guanabana, maracuya, and bananas that tasted like they were just picked moments ago, and the caramelly, sweet dulce de leche I ate straight from the package, much to the amusement and disgust of my travel companions. I could write about the lush hills and mountains we drove through, the skinny cows and horses by the side of the road, and the kids - free of helmets and any cares in the world - skitting through the streets on mopeds that had to date back to the Reagan administration. I could write about the cheesy, lovey-dovey Latin ballads that seemed to blare from every speaker in the country; the warmth and friendliness of a people who seem to encounter pale, linguistically-challenged tourists on a daily basis and are only too happy to merrily point them in the right direction with a sunny smile; the hour we spent gleefully and curiously meandering the aisles of the grocery store, stocking up on local snacks for the car ride back to San Jose. I could write about spending an entire day in my bathing suit, reading by the pool, walking on the beach, having fruity drinks for lunch, and laughing with my sister and friends. I could write about any number of these things, and they might be interesting or even entertaining, but in the end, one can just as easily pick up a guide book and marvel at the pictures. One can just as easily experience their own Costa Rica, either from near or from a far. Because in the end, you do not take a trip. A trip takes you.

Tough Ten Mile Turkey Trot - Marlboro, MA

Maybe I'm the only one who thinks I'll enjoy a race based on the director's pre-race email message signed, "See ya on the backroads of Marlborough in God's blessing!" That, and the fact that the price of registration was 10 canned goods for the local food pantry...oh yeah, and it's the Sunday after Thanksgiving, so I have what we might diplomatically refer to as a "calorie surplus".

The past three days of holiday eating, celebrating and reunion-ing might have been partly responsible for making me sleep right through my alarm, so I was awakened at 7:20 when my friend from work buzzed at my door. Fortunately, my running clothes were laid out the night before (old habits die hard...or not at all), and because fashion takes a back seat to climate control, I look like a homeless urchin when I run anyhow. I threw on my clothes, put on a pot of coffee, and answered the door. We were ahead of schedule anyhow, so we had time for a little bit of chit-chat over toast and coffee. Then we hit the road for the drive out to Marlboro.

Once we arrived, I found my friend Diane and her cousin. Diane and I know each other from our last job, and she unabashedly refers to herself as “the 50 year old cheerleader”. She has more energy than most people half her age, and she churns out 8 - 10 milers like a walk around the block. Diane encouraged me to do this race (and many others), reminding me that it would be the first Sunday of Advent, and what better way to prepare for this season than by donating food to a community food pantry. Running 10 miles through hilly Marlboro was just the bonus...

This race was defintely what we might call "no frills", and that is perhaps one of the things I liked most about it. Our race numbers were handwritten sticky labels with our name, age, and hometown. "Registration" consisted of pinning on our labels and loading our canned goods onto the back of a pickup truck. The crowd was small, friendly, and relatively quiet; some volunteers headed out to staff waterstops, while others prepped plates of homemade coffee cake, doughnuts, caramel popcorn and cookies to be enjoyed post-race.

We shivered in the sunless morning, waiting for the race to begin. The race director led us to the start, reviewed the course, and offered a blessing and moment of silence for those who go hungry and those who serve our country. He shared with us that the food pantry to which our canned goods would be donated has already experienced a dramatic depletion of resources; we are indeed in difficult times, and it’s really a blessing in itself that we can go out and enjoy this run and the munchkins and hot cocoa that await us at the finish line. The national Anthem was sung (chokes me up every time) and off we went.

Marlboro is quiet and suburban. We ran through sleepy neighborhoods with firewood piled next to the houses and smoke curling out of the chimneys. My friend from work and Diane’s cousin were way ahead of us, and Diane and I settled into a comfortable pace. After a little chit chat, we drifted into silence, each running our own race and offering the other quiet support. I knew that as long as I could see Diane’s flourescent yellow jacket near me, I was doing okay. The course was hilly and, to be honest, unremarkable. We plodded along, mile by mile. Eventually I turned on my ipod and my faithful running buddies - Jimi Hendrix, George Michael, Herbie Hancock, and Erasure - kept me company. Mile 8 - 9.5 was a brutal hill that forced me to walk. Even a few gummi bears didn’t help much.

The timing of this race - right after Thanksgiving and on the first day of Advent - held a quiet serendipity. It felt like a meaningful time to reflect on the preceding days of giving thanks, and to look ahead to the coming weeks of waiting and preparation. I have always loved Thanksgiving because, despite its historical baggage, it seems like such a universal and simple concept. Giving thanks - what an idea! I am thankful for so many things I can barely begin to list them - my family and friends, my health, my job, my community, the food on my table, the clothes in my closet, the roof over my head, the car I drive, the warmth, happiness, and plentitude of the life I am so priveleged and blessed to live. I'm grateful for the friends I run with - they encourage me, make me laugh, and more often than not are willing to indulge in massive amounts of coffee with me after a race. Despite my occasional whining about aches, pains, and strains, I am grateful that I can run. It wasn't long ago that I couldn't, and I'm reminded every single day that my ability to run could just as quickly and easily disappear. Food, friends, warm clothes, health, freedom - running honors all of these gifts at once and feels like a celebration of these many blessings.

The solitude and grey skies of this race prompt a lot of contemplation on my part. Thinking about Advent, I meditate on what it means. In its simplest form, "advent" means "coming" or "arrival", and the season of Advent is a time of expectation, anticipation and preparation, as Christians prepare for the birth of Jesus. Thinking about these concepts and how they might relate to my own life, one word keeps coming back to me: patience. There is a distinct parallel between this season of anticipation and my own striving for patience. It is a challenge - anyone who knows me knows that patience is not my forte. I pray for it and try to cultivate it, but am continually given a run for my money. But just as Advent comes every year and gives us the chance to wait and experience that act of waiting and that feeling of waiting, so too does the opportunity for patience present itself to me over and over again. Just as Christians can experience the season of Advent as the season of anticipation and preparation, so too can I think of this as a time to be mindful and patient, to think about how and when my patience is tested, and to remind myself to just wait. Because just as Christmas will eventually and undoubtedly arrive, so will all that I am waiting for.

The last half-mile or so I ran with a woman who told me about her daughter, a fiesty 5-year old named Tory who suffered from “Failure to Thrive” since she was just a few months old. As she recounted her young daughter’s treatments and medical interventions, I could barely imagine enduring so much at such a young age, and I was reminded once more what a blessing it is to get up and run ten miles. Despite my aching hamstrings, this made the last half-mile pass pretty quickly, and before I knew it we were running up a final hill and into the parking lot where we started. We turned in our stickers and claimed numbered popsicle sticks indicating what place we finished. I found Diane and my friend from work (who placed third in the women’s group!) and we enjoyed some hot cocoa and popcorn before saying our goodbyes. It was freezing cold, and as we got in the car a bit of snow began to fall. After a quick stop at Dunkin’ Donuts we were en route to Boston, tired and happy, and feeling very blessed by this run.

Hurley Rail Trail, Hudson River Valley, NY

I drove out to Rhinebeck, NY yesterday afternoon to hang out with my sister Christine, plan our upcoming trip to Costa Rica, and make a long-overdue trip to the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, NY. The meal at the CIA was sublime...hard to even describe. Suffice it to say, it definitely beat the leftovers I had at home on Friday night...

The drive to my sister's was peaceful and gave me a chance to run through an ever-growing list of things on my mind, listen to some good music, and make the most of a few quiet hours of driving through hills and valleys and watching the sun set.

I packed light for this trip but made sure to throw all my cold weather running gear into my overnight bag. As on my previous visit back in August, Christine and I planned to start Sunday morning with a run on the Town of Hurley Rail Trail, a paved and re-purposed segment of the Hudson Valley Railway.

After the three hour drive and the meal at the CIA, I slept like the dead in the comfy little guest room and awoke to the sound of birds outside my window and the smell of coffee drifting in from the kitchen. There was also the vague and comforting smell of something baking...is it any wonder I like visiting my sister? After a few cups of coffee and the NY Times, we drove out to the rail trail, which is just over the Hudson River and about 20 minutes away from Rhinebeck.

We made a brief stop at Caffe Aurora in Poughkeepsie for espressos and some homemade Italian pastries. To be honest, I was still full from last night, but Aurora came so highly recommended by my friend whose family owns it that my sister and I had to share sfogliatelle (flaky pastry filled with sweetened ricotta) and mostacciaoli (chocolate-covered spice cookie). We lingered over our coffees for a little while, watching the after-church crowd filter in and listening to the old men chiaccherando in italiano while they waited for their wives to pick up cannolli. It reminded me so much of my two years in Italy that I almost had to fight back tears of nostalgia.

Fueled up on espresso and dolci, we drove to the Rail Trail parking lot, piled on our fleeces and gloves and hats and took off running. After last week’s 7.5 miles, and in preparation for next week’s 10, I figured 8 miles or so would be a comfy distance. Christine agreed and off we went. The sun was shining brilliantly and there was no wind. It was cold but not freezing, and I knew we’d warm up quickly.

After my usual concerns that I’m going to have to walk or drop dead, we settled into a comfortable cruising speed, admired the scenery, and chatted. The rail trail is pancake-flat, surrounded by rolling hills dotted with little white farmhouses and churches. We made our way along the paved portion of the path, with a residential neighborhood on our left and the highway on our right. Despite the occasional cars passing by, it was very peaceful. Before long we dipped into the woods, running on crunchy gravel, frozen dirt, and papery leaves. Surrounded by mature pines and rocks, we continued on, enjoying the fresh air and nature and greeting the occasional runner or walker who passed by.

I should mention that Christine is my oldest sister and she began running just one year ago at the age of 37. She was more surprised than anyone else by how much she liked it and how quickly she took to it. Since then, we’ve run two half marathons and a bunch of shorter races together. A month ago, Christine signed up to run the Boston Marathon, which has been a compelling enough reason for me to keep running despite the cold weather.

Because Christine went from college to grad school to vet school to residency, each in different states, she and I have not lived in the same state since I was 16. Not only have our paths of education and career been fairly different, but our paths in life have been dissimilar, too. Though we've always shared the bond of sisterhood, it sometimes felt like we lived in completely different worlds.

Christine has always been the quintessential ‘big sister’, looking out for me, providing rational advice, and letting me crash on her floor while she was getting her Ph.D. in California and I was doing community service. She can be the epitome of a scientist, balancing my emotionality (is that even a word?) with her level headed intellect and logic. As we’ve grown into adulthood and created lives for ourselves, our sisterhood has evolved into friendship. The fact that now - in all our glorious diversity - we share this hobby of running is something that brings me great happiness.

We continue on the trail talking about everything and nothing, enjoying the fresh air, crunching pinecones beneath our feet, planning our upcoming trip to Costa Rica and talking politics, religion, science, finances and life (nothing too heavy…). I felt tired when we started but am happily re-energized and warmed up, especially once we reach the turnaround point. I ask Christine if this is four miles and she responds devilishly, “welll….not really. I kind of tricked you…”. We turn around and keep running, and I don't push for an answer. Sometimes it's better to just not know.

We maintain a steady pace and conversation and the final miles fly by. It’s brilliantly sunny and just cold enough to be refreshing, not numbing. The rolling hills around us are tranquil and the path ahead is completely flat. Two hawks circle above us. Christine and I both turn on our ipods and sprint the last mile. By the time we return to the car, we have run 11 miles, not 8. Maybe surprisingly and maybe not, I’m more than okay with that.

What is spiritual?

As I continue on my life’s spiritual path, I keep talking to God, I keep praying. I keep asking for guidance and getting impatient when I don’t get it. I keep seeking answers and feeling bewildered when I can’t find them. I keep talking to God and straining to hear answers, and I’ve started thinking that it might be because I’m not listening, or that I don’t know what to listen for.

I’ve often thought about and commented that for me, running is not only a physical experience but a spiritual one. As I finished my warmup and headed up a hill to Newton Center this morning - a perfectly clear and cool fall morning - my mind began to wrap itself around the question, what is spiritual? I intended to run three miles, but the fact the I wound up doing 7.5 is probably an indicator of how intently I was pondering this question.

What is the spirit? What does it mean to be spiritual? Is it something simply beyond our physical world and beyond our sensual world, something that can be felt but hardly described? How do our spiritual and religious experiences intertwine, or perhaps diverge? Thinking about those questions, I realize I throw the term ‘ spiritual’ around quite frequently and freely, and though I think about it often, I have a hard time clearly and concisely defining it.

What is it about running that is spiritual to me? Is it the act of not only challenging my physical self but also my mental and emotional self? Is it because when I run, a certain space is created and it is in this space that I allow myself to fully experience some of my deepest emotions, contemplate some of life’s most mundane and most massive topics, and find some previously-elusive answers?

I find myself thinking so intently about this that I trip and go flying across someone’s front lawn. It makes me cringe and laugh at the same time, and I’m not so subtly reminded of the critical role of mindfullness in spiritual practice.

I think about occasions when I’ve felt what I could only describe as being spiritually moved - hiking Mt. Monadnock with a group of friends, working with a nun in the slums of Kingston, Jamaica, listening to a Jesuit priest speak about his experiences of nonviolent protest as a path to peace, or even sharing a good meal with my close friends in the warmth of my home. I’ve also felt a sense of being spiritually alive during more challenging times - at the funeral service for my teacher and mentor, during a particularly trying time at work, and when my car broke down on the Mass Pike. Perhaps it is these occasions that inspire, allow, or force me to stop and acknowledge or rely on the presence of God. Is spirituality simply the awareness of God or a higher power?

I continue my run, breathing in the clean air, feeling the autumn wind in my face, listening to birds and rustling branches and a few cars. I notice the shapes of brown and orange leaves crunching beneath my feet, the Boston skyline in the distance, and the houses and gardens along my route. Where is God in this moment? Perhaps, everywhere.

I run by BC and turn onto Lake Street, savoring my favorite part of a run in my neighborhood - a long, easy downhill. Physically, I feel renewed and strong. I’m happy to have had this time alone with my thoughts and my prayers and questions, and thought I haven’t found any answers, I wonder if that’s part of my answer right there: just questioning, thinking, and contemplating spirituality is a spiritual act in itself.

Busa Bushwhack Trail Race, Framingham, MA

Sunday, 2 November, 2008 - 5 miles

Sometimes a good run makes everything all right, or at least gives one the space - mental, physical and emotional - to sort it all out, think it over, and leave it behind among the branches, roots, and pine needles. As I ran today, I was so deeply reminded of this. Last week’s race put me to the test, and though I didn’t fail, I was firmly tested. And despite the satisfaction of simply finishing, I hurt. Today was my comeback - an enjoyable, much less hilly local trail run with a bunch of friends, a free registration, and the promise of huge amounts of Dunkin Donuts coffee afterwards.

So many things were rolling around in my mind, and I was eager to spend an hour in nature, letting it all float away. The beginning of the race frustrated me a little bit because the trail was narrow and backed up, people were pushing and passing without warning, and there seemed to be a lot of loud mouthy show off-y guys trying to one-up each other. If there’s one thing that bugs me at a run, it’s loud mouthy, show off-y guys trying to one up each other....

In any case, off we went. Once the bottleneck dissipated we made our way further into the woods, along a peaceful trail of gently rolling hills covered with pine needles and a few roots. Compared to last week’s gauntlet, it was a walk in the park. We splashed through a few mud puddles and scurried over a few rocks and roots, but all in all it was a gentle and forgiving course. I found my pace and my breath and my 'zone' and cruised along. It was challenging, but it felt good, and I felt good. Just breathing, just running, just being.

I kept a steady pace for the course and had a good time. Sometimes I ran with others near me, and we exchanged hellos. Other stretches of the run I was completely alone. I have to admit that today, especially knowing I’d get to hang out with my friends after the race, I was particularly grateful for those quiet, thoughtful, serene stretches of alone time. During those stretches, my mind wandered.

For some reason, in the last mile or so, I found myself thinking over the past few weeks. In the course of ten days, I had gone to two funeral services - one for a 100 year old great aunt, and one for a 65 year old former teacher, mentor, and friend. Both hit me profoundly, though for different reasons, and I’ve been surprised to find myself thinking about them almost daily. Not in a melancholy way, but perhaps with an acute sense of mortality, family, and purpose.

My 100 year old aunt I barely knew - she was one of my paternal grandfather's man, many siblings - but her passing reminded me that my family is aging. Our history is fading as the older folks pass away and the younger generation becomes more and more removed from where we came from.

I also thought about Linda, one of my teachers and mentors in high school, and a good friend of my parents. She passed away at the age of 65, having just become a grandmother and a mother in law. When I went to her home for the service last week with my parents, we saw a photo of her and her husband dressed up for her son's wedding just a month ago. She looked healthy and full of joy, and it struck me as terribly sad that she would not enjoy years of carefree retirement with her husband, would not see her grandchildren grow up, and would no longer be around to share her colorful, wise, compassionate personality with all those who knew her. Linda's wisdom and guidance had a profound impact on my personal and professional life, my career choices and my decisions to travel and teach. When I was 16 and in high school, I don't think I had a full appreciation for just how much knowledge and experience Linda had, but now that I'm a little older I definitely recognize just how special and incredible she was, and I hope I can live my life in a way that would make her smile, that would make her nod her fiery red bob in approval, and that would make her proud of me.

Is it any wonder the last mile passed by quickly? I kept my pace up and even passed a few burly firefighters. I chatted with a 14-year-old high school kid whose energy seemed to be flagging and assured him that he could kick my 33 year old butt (and he did). We ran through a small glen of pine trees, down a hill, and right into a residential neighborhood. Around the block, up a small hill, down the street...I imagined what the people in these homes were doing on a cool, clear Sunday morning...reading the paper? drinking coffee? sleeping? I knew that soon I'd cross the finish line, see my parents, and drink my own coffee. The thought of all three was encouraging.

The home stretch was fun, and as I ran around the final corner and through a small cluster of bushes, I reminded myself to smile for the finish line. I picked up my pace and breathed deeply, ran the final few paces, saw my Dad and finished the race. My Mom appeared and congratulated me, and it felt great to share a trail race with them for the first time. Trail running has become a meaningful part of my life over the past year or so, and it was nice to have my parents experience this element with me. Not to mention, they are the #1 cheerleaders/support staff...

My friends soon finished and we all headed to Dunkin Donuts, where we feasted on bagels and toasted our victory (finishing!) and health with huge cups of coffee. A great run, beautiful weather, my friends & family, and a seemingly endless flow of coffee....what more could I ask for? (Well...a new car, but I'm not gonna get too picky here....)