I have no pictures to share. No map to show my route or a screenshot to show my step count for the day.
I only have my words.
You see, I ran last night. First I walked a mile with my husband. We talked about house hunting and the emotional roller coaster one goes on when waiting to hear if an offer to buy has been accepted.
We shared a laugh about our son’s clumsiness and how those genes certainly came from me. After a mile my husband asked if I was done because he was ready to rest. He had played hard ball with our son for a good length of time before our walk so he was good and exhausted.
I wasn’t. But I wasn’t prepared to walk alone. I had no phone and no music, no podcasts and no apps to entertain me. Even so, I didn’t feel done.
When we reached practice he drifted off to sit and stretch while I just kept going. My feet seemed to have decided for me so I let them. Then, my walked turn into a run. Just a slight run, nothing fast or extreme. I lifted one foot then followed with the other.
I ran without my running app telling me when to walk and when to run, so I just ran. I ran without my music or my podcasts so I just listened to everything around me. The sound of the breeze rushing through the foliage planted along the dark, metal fence. The clink of the baseball meeting the aluminum of a bat and the hoarse whooping of the boys on the field, wrestling with each other in between plays.
The air was sweet with the blossoming gardenia and jasmin plants lining the walk way as I trot along. Soon the sounds of the busy fields around me faded away and all I could hear was the steady rhythm of my foot steps in sync with my breathing. One step then another, around the field I went.
I ran a mile with no way to track it. I have no photogenic post-run shots to share. No splits to pour over and analyze. No times to compare or speed fluctuations to criticize.
Instead I had the glistening layer of sweat, the tight calves, and sore hip flexors as proof. I had run a mile, totally and completely unplugged.