5 Miles: A Story in 5 Parts

Preface: 
I’m driving down Ocean Blvd looking for a place to park. It’s street sweeping day so one side of the road is completely empty except for an occasional car that will soon have a ticket on the windshield. But the other side, the ocean side, is jam packed. Not a single open space for blocks. 
I run around here a lot. I’ve put in literally hundreds of miles along these paths and roads. Sometimes with a running group, but mostly alone. Mornings, afternoons or nights. But I haven’t run a single mile in weeks because I’ve got a broken wrist (casted) and a cracked sternum. Both are feeling a bit better this week so I’m going to just go for a walk along the beach to get some activity, fresh air and test myself to see if I’ll be able to run again soon.
You see, running is my therapy. My outlet, my joy, my self-regulation, my way to keep migraines at bay, my connection to the earth, the dirt, the sky and myself.
Without running my thoughts just get stuck in my head and cycle through an endless loop that just gets darker and darker. So after 3 weeks of sitting on the couch, doom-scrolling and avoiding social opportunities, my negative thoughts are packed in like the cars on the ocean side of the street.

Mile 1: The Fog

I’ve had to park so far south that the only direction to walk is north, towards the pier and downtown. As I walk past a few cars I notice that some of them are more than just parked cars…their owners are living out of them. With tents, gas stoves and tarps spilling onto the sidewalk. And so much trash. And it’s almost 9AM and I still haven’t seen the sun. It’s late July but the last few days have started with June Gloom. Gray, foggy skies that usually burn off late morning. But this fog feels heavier, like it wants to stick around all day. 

I hit the bike path. Already getting lost in my head. Thoughts coming and going with each step. It’s like this activity has provided my brain with a feeding frenzy and plenty of time to get its fill. Monkey mind. And it doesn’t take long for my head to fog up and my thoughts to turn gray like the sky. 

I’d rather be running.

Walking isn’t enough.

I need to be running.

I need to be better than this.

I should be better than this.

And that’s where they start. And the gate is open for all of the negative thoughts, the hard feelings and the loss of control to begin to spiral into an all-consuming mental darkness. 

And I keep walking. Passing people. Can they see it on my face? Can they feel my negative energy? Is this fog only here for me? Are they walking in the sunshine?

Mile 2: Habits

I’ve spent the last 9 years developing a meditation and mindfulness practice. At least 10 minutes each morning, every morning devoted to meditation. More most days. At times like this, on the bike path, noticing a swarm of negative and difficult thoughts buzzing around inside my head like a bunch of angry bees, is when I turn to my mindfulness habits. So I consciously turn into that now. I tell myself to slow the thoughts, to let them pass through and out. Don’t dwell. Not dwelling on them diminishes their power. Instead just notice. The sounds, smells and feelings. Notice and label. 

A runner’s footsteps.

Bike tires on concrete.

Wind.

The ocean.

Kids laughing.

Distant voices.

Cars.

Birds.

Fog.

My own footsteps. 

I can feel myself calming down already. Walking and noticing. Taking time and effort to just notice and tell myself what I'm seeing and hearing and feeling.

Mile 3:Uphill then Down

My plan was to turn around at the pier but I’m way past that now. I’ll turn back at the top of the hill by the art museum. I’ll keep noticing and keep this mindset of mindfulness. What felt like a chore 10 minutes ago now feels natural. There’s a lot more interesting things to notice now. A pickup basketball game, more trash, more homeless people (more vocal and more of a presence now), the smell of weed, people on roller skates, a busy playground. 

I’m walking and feeling physically fine. But I need a test. So I decide to walk up the hill by the museum. I need to know that I can raise my heart rate a little bit. To prove that when the time comes to run again I’ll be able to. (Maybe my sister got in my head when she texted me her fear that in my fall that broke my bones I may have also damaged my heart and it could be a problem when I run again?). A brisk walk up the hill felt good and filled me with optimism for the coming weeks. 

Heart intact, I began the walk down the hill. Now with a better view of the road ahead of me. The same landmarks I’d just passed but with a different perspective. 

Mile 4: The Voice

If you’re familiar with the bike path in Long Beach you know that between the pier and downtown there is a bluff that's maybe 40-50 feet up to the street. There’s another walking path up there, but most people use the lower one. And if you can imagine how the fog helps sound travel, sometimes you can hear voices fairly clearly even if they’re far away. 

Lost once again in my head, this time more positivity than negativity, I hear a voice. There’s a woman up on the bluff talking. I can’t tell who she’s talking to… maybe on the phone, maybe to herself, but there’s nobody else with her. But it’s her words that hit me.

“We ain’t got time for feelings. No no no no. We can’t do these feelings right now!”

Seriously. I even said it out loud to myself so that I'd remember exactly what she said. And that’s all I heard her say clearly. And it was like a mental speedbump for me. Just something that caught my attention at just the right time. Like a Dead End sign making sure I would choose another path. Or that I would at least avoid the wrong path and just stay on the path of positivity and honor the work that I’ve already put into my mental health. Noticing what I’m hearing. Noticing what I’m feeling. And letting it pass through me.

Mile 5: Joy

As I’m getting toward the end of the path and closer to my car I notice that there are fewer people this far down. Most of the ones here are runners. Some look familiar. Their movements are familiar. My muscles know how to move like that, how to keep a good pace, light, bouncy, free. So I start to run. Slowly, but my familiar gait, my true form. And I run for about 3 blocks back to my car. Feeling a tiny boost of endorphins and dopamine. And a whole lot of optimism.

7/28/2023