I turned to the group of runners peering into a large, mile-long, 100-foot deep gash in the earth adjacent to our running route along the Los Angeles River in Long Beach. Silence. I prompted them to throw out their answers.
"A big *#@!ing hole." Good start. Anything else? "A scar. Nothing. A grave."
"Anything else?" I did not want to answer my own question unless I had to.
The youngest runner (why was I so surprised by that?) gave me what I was looking for . . . "An Egyptian Queen, floating on a gold colored barge, slowly floating down the Nile."
I watched the other runners as he spoke up, and saw all their faces soften, open, and the group started nodding. They did not have to say it, the youngster had given them all a valuable lesson.
It took about two, maybe three years, but that "big *#@!ing hole" is now one of my favorite two miles that I run. When I get there, I'm three miles into my run, or have three to five miles to go on my way home. I'm in full flow.
I run the narrow dirt path alongside the tranquil water-filled channel and drink in the energy of life—an explosion of wild flowers, tall reeds, elegant Cranes, Blue Herons, Snowy Egrets, and, each week, more and more birds whose names I don't know. Rabbits, butterflies, and in the early, misty mornings, coyotes.
What is it that transformed that "scar" into a burst of wilderness that replenishes, invigorates, and inspires me each time I run in it (in it, not through it)? Vision—the ability to look at what is, to see what can be, and then living into that. Action—the ability to create the transition from the one to the other. Commitment—the willingness to embrace and reconfigure challenges that come up. Whatever they are. Accountability—the fearless and consistent tracking of action through to successful completion.
One person's "big *#@!ing hole" is another's wilderness-refuge-in-waiting. Whether it's in relationship, at work, your initial training run in preparation for a first ever 5k, or at the base of a steep hill at mile 23, I promise you this: It's never a case of "What you see is what you get."
What you get, rather, is what you choose to see.
Happy trails!
