The Walkabout

Because I am not running in a marathon until sometime in the spring of 2008, I am not following a marathon training plan. Because of this, I often times find myself walking great distances, either before or after my running session, and sometimes both. For whatever reason, my internal being has a need these days to WALKABOUT.

I do not ignore reality on my Walkabouts. I take my cell phones, both of which have unlimited data plans with unlimited email and text capabilities. Both also have cameras. I accept and return business calls, emails, and texts. My thinking is that I can do these tasks while sitting at my desk, or I can do them while walking. I can meet my professional obligations while also feeding my soul.

I have decided to structure my Walkabout time so that I am not completely sucked into a virtual reality. For me, getting sucked into work is a natural occurrence. I must discipline myself by not taking the phones with me during my running portion. I am to complete my run in good faith and then I may retrieve the phones from my car. Even then, I need to limit my talk time to calls which are critical. This is because I need to use the walk time, in part, to think without a fast-beating heart.

The term "Walkabout" is an Australian term referring to the belief that Australian Aborigines "go walkabout" at the age of thirteen in the wilderness for six months as a rite of passage. They then trace the path of the ceremonial ancestors of their tribe, following the exact route that those ancestors took, and imitating in a fashion, their heroic deeds. These paths are known as the Songlines.

Songlines are an intricate series of song cycles that identify landmarks and subtle tracking mechanisms for navigation. These songs often evoke how the features of the land were created and named during the Dreaming. The Dreaming Spirits as they traveled across the Earth, created and named trees, rocks, waterholes, animals and other natural phenomena.

I believe my recent need to Walkabout is based at least in part upon a metaphoric need to trace the path of my ancestors and to experience their songlines. Perhaps in doing so I will gain a spiritual tracking mechanism for navigation, if indeed the dreaming spirits of my ancestors created and named landmarks for my journey.

Of course, our ancestors do mark our journey to a large degree. Our parents form us, either with love or with hatred, or worse, with a sloppy mixture of love and hatred. Their parents formed them. It is an endless line. The question is whether I want to follow the guided marks established for me, or whether I want to deviate and listen for another songline.

There is no clear cut answer, but what is clear is that I cannot listen for a new songline without first hearing the songline left for me by my ancestors, and understanding fully the landmarks of its landscape. The songline is sometimes loud and unambiguous. Sometimes it is faint. It is nonetheless ever-present.

So it goes that I will turn off my electronic devices, at least for a time, in an effort to hear more clearly. I will also turn down the volume of noise and clutter which is the background orchestra to my life. I will not drown the trace sounds of the songlines meant for me, but I will listen carefully.

First though, I must complete the run which opens my heart and soul. Two days ago I ran in the unseasonably warm 63-degree weather. Prior to the run I received a call from a friend with whom I indulged myself with a talk. She was cooking, her form of meditation, and I was running. A harmonic convergence was in order. It was a worthy indulgence.

After our talk, I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, on a path not previously known. While talking with my friend, I wandered away from my familiar routes, in an effort to avoid traffic noise. While not paying attention to my direction, I ended on a road which I did not recognize. I had a general idea of my coordinates, but this road was a mystery. It was a beautiful road, called Riverview, and there was a steep embankment, up which I climbed. At the top, there was a grass pedestrian path. To the right was a short wall over which I could look down and see a river. To the left, down the embankment, was a hazardous road where cars whizzed by with no thought of pedestrians.

This path to me was a great metaphor for life itself, with beauty in our view, and hazard in our reach. I felt it was no accident that I discovered the path while immersed in the moment with my friend. I had allowed myself to be moved to another space, both physically and spiritually.

Unfortunately, I had an appointment to keep, and so I removed myself from the path, and sprinted in a direction that I hoped would carry me back to my familiar route. A warm rain began to fall and I felt exhilarated by the rain and the run. I wished no end to the run.

I found my familiar path, and I returned.

For a moment, on the run, I heard the faint songline meant for me which allowed for me to experience true freedom from the confines of those things which have blocked my ability to hear: The negative people and forces. The inflicted pains, physical and mental. The incessant desire to fill, rather than to empty.

The songline told me that I am to transform and to reach and to receive, and that I can define myself, rather than allow for others to define me. I can shut off the noise and tune out that which is inconsistent with my definition of self. I can with impunity shuttle the demons away and behind me.

For now, I will head out for another run, in the cold. It may be just another run. I don't know. I never know when a run will turn into a lesson. What I do know is that I must continue along the path as best as I can.

Making Rain

I am still absorbing the run from Tuesday afternoon. It was unseasonably warm. I had a court hearing in Bloomington and with daylight savings time, it gets dark at 5:30 p.m. this time of year. My hearing was at 11:30 a.m. and I did not exit the courtroom until 1:00 p.m. I had promised my nephew Nathan, a sophomore at IU, that I would see his dorm room this time in town. Last time I dropped him and his girlfriend off at the curb after a hurried lunch. I think my car wheels may have still be rolling as I dropped them off. Anyway, I phoned Nathan at 11:30 to advise I was in town and to ask what his schedule was for the day.

He was available until 2:30 p.m. and he invited me to see his dorm. I am a second mother to Nathan and I really wanted to see his dorm and to visit with him.

And so I illegally parked and took myself, along with my running bags, into Nathan's dorm. I bought him lunch in the cafeteria located in the basement. I took the grand tour of his floor. He was very proud. I put money on his food card for him and we chatted about family matters, after which I changed into my running clothes in his dorm room while he went to brush his teeth.

On my way to Bloomington I called St. Francis of Central Avenue on his cell phone to ask where a good place to run in Bloomington is. He suggested running Griffey Lake near the golf course. After court I asked The Judge where a good place to run in Bloomington is. He suggested Griffey Lake and the golf course.

It was a consensus.

So I dropped Nathan at Kelley Business, and headed to my running destination. I was so very motivated by the sunshine and the 62-degree weather. It was 5-years to the date of my near-death pulmonary embolism which caused a loss of part of my lung. Fully 95-pounds later, I was eager for the opportunity to celebrate a life lived and a life to come.

When I arrived I realized that I had just entered a running heaven of sorts. There is a trail which circles Griffey Lake which I am told extends about 9 miles. I never got to measure that trail and here's why:

Somewhere early on I followed what I thought was a pedestrian path into the woods. I assumed that all of the leaves had made the path nearly impossible to see. I jogged quite a bit and lost the path completely. I thought to myself that this was the dumbest suggestion ever made to me by St. Francis of Central Avenue and The Judge.

"Who in God's name runs through the woods with no path?" Within about 10 minutes I was exactly where I began. I had made a small circle, thinking I was instead making progress. I then had irrational thoughts about St. Francis and The Judge being conspiratorial morons.

I gave it another whirl, following my steps back into the woods, but this time deviating deeper into the woods.

I phoned my husband to tell him that I was having the time of my life running through the woods, but that he should at least know where I was in case I fall down one of those steep ravines to the left of me. The leaves were slippery and I am uncoordinated. He told me that I should not be running through the woods, but that I should instead be working, and asked whether I shouldn't be "making some rain" instead of wasting an afternoon in the woods. I recognized his comments for what they were and I felt sorry for him and his fears and his anxiety. I felt sorry for him because he was not climbing through the woods with me, and most sorry for him because he could not see the forest for the trees.

He triggered the little voice inside which had pushed me to work myself into a morbidly obese, blood clotting, miserable woman. That little voice said, "why are you out here all alone in the woods wasting time when you have so much work to do, and when you have a family to support?"

I spoke back to the voice with my legs. I pushed through the woods even faster. A bit later I looked down to see blood streaming from my shin bones. Lost in thought, I had not noticed that my bare legs were being cut to shreds by thorns as I raced through the woods.

I was not wearing trail shoes. My legs were exposed. I did have my batman belt and an extra bottle of Smart Water.

I went deeper. Before I knew it I was surrounded by briers and brush and there was no trail anywhere. I climbed down a steep ravine. I climbed up a steep ravine. I did this 4 more times. At the top of the 5th ravine, in the middle of this woods where no soul would join me, I heard noises all around me. I began to have thoughts of the movie Deliverance. My heart pounded and my adrenaline shot up. I told myself that I had done something stupid getting lost in these woods and now my number was surely up.

I spun around to see 5, maybe 8 deer, surrounding me completely. There was one deer with small antlers. There were 2 small does. There was one rather large deer which froze and came closer to me.

Just days prior I had encountered a deer alone on a path and he lingered with me for over 10 minutes. I took 2 videos and several photos of that deer as he came closer. It was as though he wanted to tell me something. And he did.

Back to Griffey Lake, these deer seemed like ghosts to me. They milled about as though I were the ghost. They seemed entirely unconcerned with my presence. I was in their world, and not visa verse. I was not a threat to them, obviously. I sent a good friend a text message which read, "There are deer everywhere!"

I wanted to pause the moment in time forever. I did not want to move forward or backward. I just wanted to be. That's all. I wanted to be and float about and sense my invisibility.

Of course, it didn't last, because I made several motions which caused the deer to realize that I was a foreigner among them. The largest deer took the initiative in scrambling away from me. He leaped past me and stood at the edge of the ravine. It was very steep, and deep and there was no sloping angle. It dropped straight off.

And then I saw an amazing thing. This deer ran straight down the wall of the ravine. I thought he was committing deer suicide or something. I thought I had scared him into jumping off of the ledge. I ran to the ledge, why I do not know. I mean, I wasn't going to perform some kind of a deer rescue.

I ran to him which frightened all of the other deer. I stood on the very ledge and looked over and watched as this woods ghost leaped downward...straight downward, and then he leaped across the ravine, perhaps 30 feet, maybe more, and landed on the other side. He then made a rapid assent to the top of the ravine on the other side. It was as though he floated in air to the top.

I considered that this deer knew nothing about the laws of gravity, but he was certainly bound by them, nonetheless, wasn't he? He knew nothing about the idea that he could not do what he had just done. He seemed to have no concept of limits at all.

He was graceful throughout this exhibition. His large white tail bounced high as he arrived at his destination. He bounced across the ridge of the ravine as if to perform a victory dance. And then he stopped and stared over at me, as if to say, "Its your turn."

I wanted to follow him, more than anything, and so I headed over to the part of the ravine off to the right about 20 yards which allowed me to slide down and then climb up a less steep angle.

I got more bloodied by the act but I did not consider the effects. I wanted only to go to the other side and show this deer that I too could accomplish the unthinkable.

He didn't wait around for my pride to catch up. He took off, and I think I heard him say, "sucker" into the wind as he made his exit.

I continued to climb to the top when I realized that I had only 20 minutes of daylight left, if I was lucky, and that I had no idea where in the hell I was or how to get out. I considered phoning my husband to ask him about survivalist tips, but I didn't because (1) I did not have a signal, and (2) I did not want to think about making rain.

I scurried along at a rapid pace hoping to see some sign of the lake or civilization. Nothing.

I finally got a signal and I thought maybe, if it got dark, I could call St. Francis of Central Avenue, who spends every Tuesday night in Bloomington, and he could call some sort of park ranger or someone to come get me out of this predicament. And then I thought I'd rather freeze overnight in those woods than call him for help because he would realize what a total emotional retard that I was to have gotten lost alone in the woods with no long pants or anything except running shorts, tank top, and a skimpy windbreaker. He will think I am surely in need of something he cannot offer and that would compromise our relationship. More important, he would feel responsible for me getting lost in there and that I did not want.

So I trudged on and I began to get a bit panicky. Then I remembered that when I came into the woods the sun was at my back and so if I walked in the direction of the sunset, surely I would find my place. It worked. I ran through for about 15 minutes and I finally saw water. I climbed down one last steep ravine and I walked over the water rocks, and onto the path which I was originally intended to experience.

It was a dirt path near the water. I was not sure which direction to take it around the lake, but I figured there were a couple of fishing boats out there. I could always yell out to them if need be. I took a gamble and went left and within about a half mile I was in view of the parking lot.

It was 5:30 p.m. and darkness was falling.

I said a prayer of thanksgiving for all I had seen and done in the past 3 hours.

I emerged from the woods a different person--a person who had followed no path but who had found her way nonetheless.

One thing is certain and that is I made some rain that day in the woods. I worked in a way I could never have imagined. Every muscle in my body ached. I was exhausted.

I sent St. Francis of Central Avenue a text message telling him that this run deserved a standing ovation.

Then I gave the run a standing ovation, on the corner of the edge of the path, where my feet met the water and my eyes met the horizon.


Griffey Lake Run Photos: