This idea of “a mind that runs” came from what is meant to be the end of a chapter. I hate endings. I love beginnings and middles. A true fan of joy, endings are just too much for this mind. Sometimes endings are unavoidable. I’m not convinced running has written it’s last chapter for me. Today I want to honor it’s beginning.

This story help you understand my meaning for sharing my thoughts and experiences. One thing is clear. The best things in life happen to you when you are not looking for them.  Those unexpected things may just form you and help you navigate even the hardest of endings.

It’s funny how you remember some things. I remember the first moments of my “thoughts while running”.  At the time, I lived in Melbourne Australia with my now husband. When we moved down under, running had been the sport I picked up to fulfill my need for activity in nature. This was the first time I’d lived in a city away from the mountains. My entire life, my identity was snow skiing. Of course I loved many other sports obtaining to the outdoors. I also knew I would need a replacement for my new life in Australia.

That transition started before I left Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Where I had spent 6 years of my life prior to moving to Melbourne.

Getting ready to start first triathlon. Swim training put to the test.

First I started swimming thinking surfing would be my “new obsession”. I would ride my bike to the pool from my house in the Tetons. A 10 mile round trip route. A client had suggested triathlons. I laughed. Never had I run any sort of distance. That was something PE teachers forced me to do in school. It took a minute. Swimming became easier, cycling was second nature, running seemed like a perfect addition. I would reach for triathlons in my Aussie adventure. And so my sport of running began. In the mountains of Jackson Hole Wyoming.

It was a few years later that the “thoughts while running” really began to stick as a “thing”. I was now living in Melbourne. My daily run was around the Botanical gardens near our apartment. A 2.5 kilometer tan dirt track that the locals call “the Tan”. Cause Australians can’t say any name for anything or anyone at its fullest. What would be the fun in that?! Highly educated, yet quick to add their spin on the English language. I digress.

The “tan” Botanical Gardens Path

Story continued. I’d lace up my runners (Aussie for running shoes), put my MP3 player on my armband (yes it was the early 2000s), and hit “the Tan” for some morning exercise.  Out my apartment, along the river, cross Punt Road, to start the tan with an uphill wakeup call, wiggle down through the native tree covered path, around the bend where it opens to grassy fields, finally the straight stretch along the river side and back home. I’d repeat in my head… “stay left, stay left”. And yes, I did have a few accidents in the beginning, running on the wrong side of the path.

The repetitive nature of these runs became routine. Providing time for my brain to process life. During this time one of my favorite people back home was battling cancer. An avid cyclist, I knew he’d give anything to ride his bike. On these runs, I would push myself when I was tired, for him. My brain would go wild with ideas while running. I’d think of safe ways for his frail body to ride again. I visualized electric bikes (which is now an option but not back then) and recumbent bikes as options. Some days I wrote mental letters to him while running, explaining what an impact he had on my life. How he inspired me to be my best self. How I admired his perseverance through even the greatest of obstacles. My brain was distracted to problem solve, my body was inspired to move, and I had found my pace in my own thoughts. Running became not only my sport, it became my mental release. 

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Bike portion of the triathlon (my road bike was in the USA so I was on a Mtn bike)

I am forever grateful for this reflection. It brings tears to the surface, quickly comforted with a smile of his memory. The pain of a loss can remind you so much of what or whom got you to this moment. Until his very last breathe, this person lived like there were a million moments left. My hero became my angel. Luckily I flew home just weeks before he got his wings.

I was able to share those letters I wrote in my head while running, with him. I was able to sneak in a few more meaningful memories that will forever be etched in my soul. I feel his push all the time. Somehow, running makes me feel close to him so often. Life can truly be beautiful, even when it is a beast. 

Every day since then, running has help me navigate life. The good, the bad, and all the grey areas in-between. This practice of mindful narration has also crept into many other activities in my life. I do some of my best thinking on road trips, hiking through the forest, in coffee shops, sitting on the beach or out paddle boarding on the water, and so many other places. I’ve learned how not to be lonely. I’ve learned that these narratives are imperative to a happy existence for me. After all, I am the girl that has “a mind that runs”.

Our last visit together. My dad (on the right) and his childhood best friend (on the left).