It’s been a while since I went trail running. I promise myself this time I won’t take so long between runs. My husband and I tie our laces, pull on our packs, and start running. The rhythm is familiar. The grounding beat of my feet, the consistent in, out of breath. Music doesn’t accompany my runs like when I was younger. I prefer the natural sounds and the quiet. 

The creek splashes down the canyon to our left. The breeze whispers through the pines above and birds chirp in the distance. Breath, footfalls, and heartbeats form the rhythm.

I dodge roots and rocks as we fly down the trail. By the time my foot hits the ground I’ve already planned the next step. My attention is always three to four feet ahead, a skill honed from years of running on uneven trails. 

The practice pauses as I round a bend and notice the creek dropping over large boulders into crystal clear pools. My husband and I share a look and we pick our way down off the trail towards the water. We emerge through the bushes at the edge of a small pool with boulders on one side and a line of smaller rocks on the other side that the water seeps through. I can see rounded stones and gravel at the bottom through clear bluish green water. 

We take off our shoes and step in. The cold is refreshing and I sit on a rock, my feet in the water, and listen for a while. It’s quieter down here than up on the trail. The trees and shrubs are sheltered from the breeze and the water has slowed as it passes through. 

The rounded rocks massage the bottom of my feet and I let my hands dip into the water too. My breathing slows along with my heart. My problems are far away from here.

We take one more moment at the pool. Then taking a breath, we lace our shoes back onto our cooled feet and run back down the trail.