Sunday morning. I wake up and feel for my watch in the dark, pressing the button to light up the screen. 8:13am - I've slept for almost 10 and a half hours. I swing my legs out of the bed, pad over to the window, open up the shutters and exclaim; "Ma, piove ancora!?" ("It's still raining!?") It's been raining since Friday. But then I remember the few hours of golden sunshine and clear skies late yesterday afternoon giving way to a starry evening. Life is full of deep contrasts - the good and the bad, rain and sun, day and night, summer and winter... running and injury.
It's a Sunday morning. I can hear the drip drip drop of the rain outside. The occasional splash and spin of wheels as a car navigates the bend on the street under my house, the hum of the fridge, the smell of freshly brewed coffee, the tick tick tock of the clock hanging on the wall. Time marching on. And here I am; a 22 year old girl, living in Malonno, Italy. My next door neighbour's kitten has climbed up over the roof and is following his usual morning routine; peering through my window watching my every move, meowing to be let in and purring like a tractor. He always puts a smile on my face.
I glance up at the clouds hanging low over the mountain tops. A blanket of grey, that somehow seems to wrap it's arms around me too. This greyness, the stillness - a familiar friend this year. The lack of what I came here to do, the gaps, the missing. I'm so sick and tired of not being able to run. I want more than anything to be able to lace up my trainers and skip along the trails, feeling the rain drops on my skin and the mud sloshing under my feet. The breath ragged in my lungs. The energy and strength in my legs. But my body is telling me again it isn't ready. This year, I've rested more days than I've ran. Between lock down and persistent niggles, it seems like 2020 is a year to test not my running strength but instead my mental strength. Living alone in a foreign country, unable to do the thing I came here to do. Can I hold on?
In my weakest moments, I'm learning how strong I can be. I've just got to keep believing... even if those days of running, fast, light, strong seem so so so far away.
But for now, the church bells strike 9:30 and play a jolly tune, beckoning the community of Malonno to Sunday mass. My mind drifts along the melody towards a race I know I would've been running today if only my body had been cooperative. But then I breathe a sigh of acceptance. Acceptance can be a powerful thing - It lets you move forward even if with a slight twang of regret.
And so... I lace up my trainers, shrug on my bright yellow adidas TERREX GORE-TEX jacket, leave the house and these thoughts of regret behind me. I think again about why I love to run. The freedom and the ability to explore. One foot in front of the other, one at a time until I can feel myself returning back to who I am.
It's Sunday morning, it's raining. I'm experiencing my home trails by foot. Not running, but simply walking. Enjoying the slow movement of this simple life I've created for myself here... with the hope and belief that one day soon, my body will allow me to pick up the pace and run again.
But for now I'm just walking. The woods are encompassed in a deep foggy cloud. There is no other human in sight. I move forward, one foot in front of the other. The rain drips through the trees. My hair is soaked and has turned into a soggy cushion of dampness on my head. I could've put my hood up I know, but like this I feel alive - closer to nature, closer to myself. I'm where I'm supposed to be, immersed in the natural world, just moving my body. I smile. I'm where I want to be. For now - this is enough. It has to be.
