Signs from Above
Recovered enough to run again (soreness down from "can't walk down stairs" to "only hurts when I laugh"), I was leaning into trail running. Then I cracked my knee on the shoe bench at full momentum. I took it as a sign from the universe: sit back down, buddy. Work awaits.
Having adequately recovered from my previous run—meaning the soreness had finally dropped from "can't walk down stairs" to "only hurts when I laugh"—I decided it was about time to head out again. You know, get the blood moving, pretend I'm committed to this whole "health" thing. Work against my sedentary vocation.
Running on roads is only moderately boring. Pavement is predictable, cars are predictable (mostly – the old people are concerning at times), and you can zone out to a podcast without face-planting into a root. But it's still just... straight lines. Asphalt. Same scenery on repeat. Rough on the joints. Trail running, though? That's what I've been leaning into lately. Trails are the opposite: uneven ground, surprise hills, trees that look like they're judging you, the occasional deer that bolts like it owes you money. It keeps your brain engaged. You can't fully autopilot because one wrong step and you're eating dirt. Crazy right? In a good way. That's what I intended to do—hit the trails, feel alive, maybe even outrun my own thoughts for 30 minutes.
And that's when I went to put my shoes on.
