Dear Trail Running,
It’s not you, it’s me.
No, we’re not breaking up, nothing like that. You will always be my main squeeze but, it’s just, well, you know how I have a little thing with skiing every winter? When you aren’t around? I know this might be hard but I want an open relationship the rest of the year too. Can you share me, knowing that you are still number one?
You see, an old flame has come back into my life, one I’ve known my whole life. We’ve been on again off again ever since I was five, and I took the training wheels off. It’s my bike, it’s come around again, asking for another chance. We’ve gone out a few times and, it’s good, it’s really good. Nothing like what we have of course, but good in its own, less important way.
Trail running, you’re great, and I never want to be away from you, but you are just so serious. Maybe that’s not even it, it can be good to be serious but you, you’re just so damn hard sometimes! This thing with the bike, it’s easy. I just hop on and head out back with the dogs, flying along the old dirt road, picking my way through the rocks and roots on the trail. I like how it makes my body feel, moving through space with the wind in my hair. I love how my confidence is growing as I learn to keep my core still, and my arms and legs and hips loose as the bike tosses around below me. You make me feel good, even at the end of a long day of work, even when I think the last thing I want to do is be with you, you always prove me wrong. Sometimes though, I’m just too tired. You require too much of me, and I can’t always do it. The bike though, is a tart, just like my skis. It asks very little of me except a fun ride. It carries me down the hills. It lets me down shift when things get tough.
Don’t be sad, there are places we go that my bike and I will never be able to. Like our run today up and over Blue Hill Mountain, like the trails of Acadia National Park. And we’re still going to Moab together in November (I booked the tickets today). And when my bike dumps me again (it always does) I know you’ll be there, ready to pick me up and take me back outside and make me feel better. You always do.