It’s 7:00 a.m. on Saturday, March 14, 2020. My running group assembles at its usual meeting point, a local Starbucks. We are a little rumpled and disheveled, but pre-run grooming is nonsensical and would, in addition, eliminate our joyful and occasionally ruthless commentary about appearances.
We amble out of the coffeeshop, delaying the inevitable moment when our pace quickens into an initially graceless jog. We spread apart -- partly due to differing paces, energy levels, and warm-up periods -- and partly due to social distancing mandated by COVID-19 health concerns. Our conversation centers on health agency updates, working remotely, and managing anxiety during troubling times. We relay what we know about how the disease spreads, its symptoms, and how to “flatten the curve.” Washing hands, sanitizing surfaces, stockpiling food, and enhancing immune systems dominate the discourse.
I’m following all the recommended strategies but focusing on self-care. I’ve set boundaries on how much virus-related material I read and how often. I’ve excluded myself from group chats that contain doomsday predictions. I’m making sleep my highest priority, occasionally taking a quick nap following a morning workout before going to the office. And, right now, I am exercising exclusively outdoors.
After ten minutes, our running course flattens out along an eerily quiet paved road. The conversation lessons as the level of effort increases. At about mile four, two of us enter a trail demarked by a series of steps and sharp switchbacks that zigzag through a deliciously deciduous forest. My focus sharpens on the path, discerning precise foot placement among small but sharply angled rocks extruding through the earth. I crest a hill, grateful for a slight respite from the elevation change, and contemplate the downhill in front of me. I wonder whether the level of effort necessary to slow my pace on the downward slope is worth it—or whether I should just release potential energy and fly as quickly as my middle-aged legs can muster.
I approach another, shallower incline, grateful for its gentle leniency. I slow, and the pain in my legs diminishes. I forgive the impending mid-size branches and moderate mud puddles that require small leaps; I know they harbor no ill intention in blocking my path. The fern fronds alongside the trail kindly beckon to me. The sharp bark of the trees is softened by cushy moss, and a musty, earthen scent fills my consciousness.
My soul unfolds, embracing the surrounding natural environment. Mother Nature is a steadfast and constant running companion, unwavering in her devoted existence. She never asks more of me than I can give in return, and for that, I remain her faithful fan. Cushioned by the elements, I am cordoned off from afflictions and infections. I am safely cocooned from disease or pathogens.
I emerge from the woods, stronger and rejuvenated. Time outdoors has given me a natural boost of immunity, and my anxiety dims. I am mightier, heartier, tougher, and restored.