This year, I started running more regularly, five days a week at least. Running for me is always therapeutic. It clears my head so well. And I get tons of great ideas as I exercise.
When running a race, I get in a zone. You know how it is. I tune in to my musical playlist, spot a fellow runner, someone that looks like they're running at a good pace, and I use them as inspiration to get through.
This post shares a story about the Winter Park 10K race, an event that I now view as life changing for me in a few ways. The first transformer relates to the music that accompanies my running.
Curating my playlist
Music is always inspiring, keeping me going, so I have a long playlist of beloved songs. One of my new favorites is Bones, by Galantis. I happened to Shazam the song, which I hadn’t heard before, on a mere whim recently.
It has a good beat and catchy melody, but what I love the most is the lyrics.
Every bone in my body lately has been feeling like I'm onto something really big, personally. I feel and see inspiration everywhere.
I feel inspired to serve others: to help people when and where I can. The more I give, the more comes back to me, and I almost can't keep up with the amount and intensity of inspiration.
So, on that cold but sunny morning of the Winter Park 10K race, I'm running and enjoying the flow of inspiration and listening to my music. Someone just incidentally told me about this race, so I was feeling grateful for the opportunity and for the friends who joined me for the event.
And then, about a couple miles into the race, I started to feel it in my bones, literally.
Okay, Mr. Ankle, I hear you.
My right ankle started to hurt. Significantly. I thought, "Uh oh. What is this?"
The pain intensified so much that I decided to stop by the side of the road. I rotated my ankle, did a couple of different stretches, and paused for maybe 20 seconds or so. As I moved myself back into the race, I spoke to the pain:
"Okay, Mr. Ankle, I hear you. Good morning to you too. I know we're only a couple miles into the race, but I would really like for you to allow me to finish without screaming too much at me. So I hear you. I acknowledge you're there. I'm saying hello to you and I'm just asking you very nicely to let me finish the race without being in too much pain."
I don't recall how much longer the pain was there. I have a decent tolerance for pain, but this was pretty severe. Maybe it was a message from my body I should have listened to. But that’s a moot point because the pain dissipated!
I don't remember how long it was after I had said, "Okay, Mr. Ankle, I'd like to complete the race." But by responding to the pain with humor, I was able to keep running, eventually pain free, right across the finish line.
A cosmic helping hand...
While in itself the synchronicity of the song, the ankle pain, and my little speech inviting the pain to cooperate with me was pretty mind blowing, there’s still more to the story!
A couple hours after the race, I had a text from a bodywork therapist I used to visit, someone that I'd last seen 18 months prior. Here’s what it said:
Wow! Was it possible she had helped me heal my ankle pain from a distance?
I’m beginning to see how it works: awareness that goes deep into my bones opens up vast new possibilities, beyond even my wildest imaginings.
If you like the song, you can get it from your favorite music service below:
Want to read more?
If you would like to read more about the life-changing experiences leading up to the Winter Park 10K, check out the blog posts below for the rest of the story!