The Release of Running

Today, I have a guest post from my son, Walker Rainford.  This is actually an English assignment, but he said it would be okay for me to post.  He speaks about something I feel when I ride, the unwinding of my stressed-out, cluttered self...

The Release of Running

by Walker Rainford

          If you ask most people what they would think of taking a three mile run every day, they might look at you like you’re crazy or maybe like you are one of those people obsessed with fitness. Until my freshman year of high school, I would have reacted much the same. At my father’s request, I signed up for cross country to become more active in school. While the first few weeks were difficult and left me feeling as utterly exhausted as I had thought I might feel; the more I got in shape, the more I came to truly enjoy running. Out in Falcon, with the open, endless space left before you to run, it can be an amazing opportunity to relax and find time to think without seeming utterly unproductive. The steady cadence and shorter stride of a lengthy jog might easily settle into the back of the mind, leaving the mind free to wander where it may without the distraction of a body at rest.

"...leaving the mind free to wander where it may without the distraction of a body at rest."

          As the season pressed onward, I found myself anxiously awaiting our Monday workout, when we ran north, along a dirt road for an hour or more past open fields where cattle graze. I was able to use this time to think, about my life, school, and anything else pressing on my mind.  Running allowed me to release the stress I piled upon myself, and to solve my troubles. My darkest of moods were moved to serenity by the open space and silent trails we ran. I am truly glad my father prompted me to try running, because without it, I wouldn't be the person I am today. It has brought a level of wisdom and balance to my life that I have lost in the past.
          Even after the season ends, and life goes back to my normal routine, I make time to go for a run in my neighborhood especially on the days where it would first appear that I don’t have the time to spare. The opportunity to run, even on days crammed with homework, allows me the chance to think things through, and gives me a chance to plan the rest of my evening, as well as acting as an aid to me for finding the answers to problems I’d struggled with throughout the day. This very essay was planned when I went for a jog to clear my thoughts and calm myself after a tough day at work.
          The next time you find yourself lost in a jumble of thoughts, consider going for a jog, or even a walk if a jog sounds like too rigorous a workout for the time. Find a long road, or a route that you know well, and let your legs take you where they may. The clarity that comes with a walk will likely leave you rejuvenated, and ready to go back into your life, with your mind sharpened and your body loosened. When I return home and begin on schoolwork, I’m often
able to do better and gain more if I’ve run prior, as I find that the events, both past and eventual, are no longer clouding my thoughts with questions and uncertainties.
          Even if you don’t have something looming or especially troubling on your mind, your thoughts will lead to stressors that you weren’t aware were present. The time with nothing more than scenery and your open path let your mind wander as it will, and given time, your mind will always sort itself towards that which is troubling you or concerning you, sitting at the back of your mind with a false label of something resolved or of no concern. When these are sorted out, you can almost physically feel the clarity and the calm that will reach your mind,
something we often seek fruitlessly. Your mind is an extremely powerful tool, and like any tool you hold in your hands, it must be cleaned and cared for, lest it cease to function properly. If you leave your mind and your thoughts unattended over time, you will lose the ease with which you could once think without ever realizing it. The first thing you do upon reaching this clear state brought by the time running gives to think will surprise you, being accomplished with an
ease you might have long forgotten. 

The Day I Fell Off (A Story about Trust)

          Anyone who has spent any amount of time knows what I’m talking about – falling off.  When I first learned to ride, that’s pretty much what I thought riding was – climbing on, clinging as long as possible, falling off, rinse and repeat.  Literally:  rinse the dirt out of my mouth, climb back on and do it again.  Eventually, falling off got to hurting more, and staying on got to be a goal.  Now that I’m older, falling off hurts A LOT more, and I spend quite a bit of time thinking about staying on. 

          Last spring, I fell off in a big way.  We were riding in the outdoor arena, working on our stops.  If you’ve watched reining, or ridden reining, you know what that’s about.  It’s about running the length of the arena at top speed, and then asking your horse to stop.  If all is right in the world, the horse will tuck his hind legs under and slide to a stop.  Really cool if it’s right.  Really scary if it’s not. 

          On this particular day, we were taking our game to the next level.  I had been going to shows and getting scores of 69.  I wanted 72’s.  To get there, we had to take a risk.  We had to push our maneuvers to the next level, which means going faster, running harder, and trusting more.  That’s what we were doing on that Saturday morning.  I was running him harder to his stops, and he was trying harder in his stops.  Unfortunately, I mistook trying harder for doing more.  I thought that I needed to push more with my body, to sit back farther, to steer with my hand.  Inadvertently, I took away the trust I had with Sergio.  Going slow, I trusted that he could perform the maneuver with me aboard as a passenger.  Going faster, suddenly I was grabbing the steering wheel, pushing the gas pedal and working the clutch.  Sergio was confused.  In fact, he looked back at me a couple of times as if to say, “What are you doing?  I don’t understand this new language you are speaking.”

          The ultimate result was that he came into the ground crooked, his back end slaloming off to the right, his front end jarring into the ground.  I popped up out of the saddle and off to the right.  I had a moment to clutch at the saddle, but all I saw below was dirt.  So I fell off.  It was not pretty.  I left my own slide tracks with my butt and hip.  As I crawled around, alternately pressing my forehead into the dirt in pain and fumbling for my glasses, I wanted to quit.  I was pushed beyond my limit, and scared.  Truly scared, and this is not something I enjoyed one bit.  But I knew that I had to get back on, to try the stop again, and do it quickly before the fear really set in.  I didn’t need to worry about Sergio’s fear, he understands forgiveness, and offers it up most of the time.

          As I climbed back on, knowing I was going to have a beautiful bruise and maybe some swelling, my hands were shaking.  My heart was pounding, my thoughts were racing.  Even as I readied myself to do it again, I was coming up with excuses not to.  Instead, I pointed him to the other end of the pen and kissed.  Or at least I pursed my dry lips together and squeezed my shaking legs.  Sergio took off for the other end of the arena.  As we loped, I told myself that I absolutely had to trust Sergio to do his job.  I had to let go of driving and be the passenger (or I would die).  It worked; we stopped bigger than we had all day.  We quit on that one, but the lesson was learned.

          The tricky thing about trust is that it is easy to give when I am in control.  When Sergio is providing the impulsion, locked in and doing his job, it’s a lot harder to trust.  I noticed, too, that the trust can quietly erode away when we don’t challenge ourselves as a team.  If I get in the habit of riding the maneuvers at home at a medium pace, I lose the trust I have in pushing ourselves to go faster.  Then we are right back in the same situation, I’m trying to drive and he’s sitting in the driver’s seat. 

         The thing about the stop is that you absolutely cannot Flinch.  As you are flying down the length of the arena, you must remain calm.  Your middle must be supple, your legs relaxed, your hand down.  I repeat the words of my coach – your hand down.  No really, you must put your hand down.  If you pick your hand up, it is equivalent to putting your foot on the clutch.  The engine revs but the car slows down.  If you are focused on the end of the arena and your jaw is set, your eyes are up, your body is flowing with the horse, and the pounding of his hooves fill your head … then, whoa.  The horse (who is now one with you) drops out from under you, your body rocks from side to side as he powers to hold on to the ground.  You can hear the friction of his sliders on the arena base, and it is a deep moan that echoes in your chest.  There is no thought at this time, no worry or wonder, and no doubt.  It is simply, “Whoa.”