A cold bead of sweat streaks down my forehead heading towards my eye, I know it will sting but don’t have the energy to care. I focus on the constant rhythm that can be found in the white noise of nature, the crickets, cicadas, frogs, and birds all conducting individual solo’s that combine into a beautiful symphony. These are the woods I grew up in, I had walked my dogs in them, spread their ashes in them, and could remember all the technically illegal sledding and biking my brothers and I would do. Yet now, I was alone, with nothing to accompany me except for the constant noise. Most would choose to run in the road, easier to track your distance, people to see, interactions with other runners, no roots sticking up, trees fallen down, or rocks protruding from the earth to sprain an ankle on. And yet I choose to run here. A place that I cannot go on my computer and track, no people to see, no runners to interact with, roots, trees and rocks to dodge. For most they would think it is an obstacle, but these are the woods I grew up in, and to me running through the foot deep leaves that camouflage the constant risk of a broken ankle comes as second nature.

Lunging with my legs

Past all the old memories

Wishing to return