Cassandra Wolff

Running uphill is, until now, an undisputedly spurned activity. When I discovered trail running, the hills started showing up in my life, along with a steady procession of unexpected wisdom. The most energy-consuming moment of the ascent dawns on you like an old life lesson, one that you thought you had learned from after repeating it over and over. Somehow, here it is again, beckoning you to take a closer look at yourself, but this time, its different, because you are different.

At times, we willingly invite discomfort into our lives by reinforcing negative thought patterns, avoiding difficult emotions-moving through life without examining ourselves beyond what we can see and hear, entangled in a old set of familiar habits that no longer serve us-enamored in keeping things the way they’ve always been. Moving anything uphill for an extended period is a punishing demand, but it is also an opportunity to engage with a force that has never known how to yield, one that demands you grow in whatever means necessary, to meet it where it is–gravity. Other times, we willingly invite discomfort by scaling a steep hill in our running shoes–an activity that exposes long-concealed fragments of the interiority of ourselves, setting the table for a personal experiment in being okay with nothing left to hide. Like a stiff fog finding its way to some higher place where it can contemplate on how far it has come.

Moving anything uphill for an extended period is a punishing demand, but it is also an opportunity to engage with a force that has never known how to yield, one that demands you grow in whatever means necessary, to meet it where it is

I started out with a brisk walk, shuffling my legs to the subtle booms of my stride as my heels and toes plodded the earth, realizing that within a mile, I would meet myself at the intersection of ecstasy and suffering. To warm myself up I began jogging at 12-minutes per mile at half mile before the uphill portion of the run, my steady gait charging my commitment to endure what lies ahead. As soon as I reach the bottom of the steeply graded trail in the San Elijo hills, my gaze lifts with the incline stretched out beyond me, the vapored mist of clouds embraced upon a narrowed horizon. I shorten my stride, deepen my breath, and tense every muscle in my body while trying to keep my hands and head relaxed-focused on the pranic-pump that delivers the will to endure to every muscle of my being.

The cadence of the breath tries to follow a chaotic rhythm at first, “Hhg—hah—hhhg—hah—hhhg—hg.” Soon, I fall into a more dependable breathing pattern “Hhhg— hhah —hhhg—hhah— hhhg.” Now, my focus is dedicated to preventing a skipped breath, as every step relies on a pump of prana carefully synchronized to feed the larger muscles that rally the rest of the body to persevere. The sweat starts to collect behind my neck, I reach for a swig of electrolytes. Suddenly, I realize that when the body is challenged physically, its needs are magnified. Food, oxygen, rest, hydration, human touch, shelter, sunlight, movement, stillness, stability, purpose, faith—all so easily dismissed in the maelstrom of Monday through Friday; our power to care for oneself seized by unwilling-to-yield forces beyond our discrete control.

when the body is challenged physically, its needs are magnified. Food, oxygen, rest, hydration, human touch, shelter, sunlight, movement, stillness, stability, purpose, faith—all so easily dismissed in the maelstrom of Monday through Friday

The next breath whips a sail of endorphins through every particle of my being, I am effectively high on the inner-reservoir of my own opiates; my face aroused in the twinkle of an immeasurable smile,  my heart ascended to some other place outside of my body. I keep going, “Hhhg— hhah —hhhg—hhhg—hhah.” I try my best to stay level-headed at the peak of the runner’s high, remembering what the Bhagavad Gita says about keeping the mind neither too high nor too low. For a moment, I imagine giving up, stopping and resting my hands on my knees with my head facing the earth, but I just keep going.

I am effectively high on the inner-reservoir of my own opiates; my face aroused in the twinkle of an immeasurable smile,  my heart ascended to some other place outside of my body

When I willingly engage in an uphill battle for the sake of strengthening my body, the mind also benefits from that resilience-in-the-making. Somehow trail running helps me to slow down in life. It helps me to get in touch with what in tender in the heart, wounded in the mind and broken in the body-and to invite healthy habits to stick for the long term. In the moments when uphill endurance is activated, the body displays all of the strength and yet all of its weakness. Negative thoughts appear, giving you a chance to change them. Traumatic memories become visible, creating an opening for forgiveness and peace. Old habits flash before your eyes, giving you the opportunity to see them to the door.

Somehow, running helps me to slow down in life

The horizon that seemed out of reach surrounds me now. My body as light as the mist that cleaves to my skin. I can feel the presence of a power that supersedes all outside influence. I am a little more healed today than I was yesterday.