Moving Your Blues Away

I have often said that running kept me moving forward in my life, that it has helped me through many very difficult and challenging times. And then getting dogs and having to walk/run them, has kept me going, knowing that even when life is difficult, they should have their time out and about (plus it’s less poop to pick up in the backyard).

Some years ago, a friend told me about a book called Walking Your Blues Away and often that title resonates in my head as run, walk, and even swim. While each of these movements provides me with something different– walking would be the one that doesn’t help me feel as physically strong, but sometimes it’s just about being out. Running is obviously the one most important to me, but as I get older, my legs and feet are enjoying swimming more because it’s less stress on them. And swimming provides what I call a “mental health break” midday as I leave my morning work behind and get set for an afternoon of, hopefully creating at the sewing machine.

I can think of a number of reasons why movement, especially being outside, is important. When I take Lilly out around 4:50 in the morning, it’s completely dark and by the time I run her, run Ash, and do my run, the outline of the Sandia Mountains has appeared and the sun is starting to show up for the day. A new day is coming and the slate has been wiped clean from the previous day.

Swimming helps me to let go of any anxiety I might have developed in the morning and remember that there are other things that are important and what’s not worth the worry.

There is something about movement, about letting my mind wander, that helps me focus again and brings me new ideas. It also makes me realize when I’m letting the same thought (an annoyance) permeate my mind when I should be allowing new, inspiring and creative thoughts in.

Even though we’re social distancing, there’s no reason to go outside and take that walk. It’s a weird time to say the least and at least when we keep moving, we keep hope alive inside us. And you never know what great ideas might form as you move those blues far far away.

Taking My Steps

Some years ago, I was leading a workshop on suicide prevention at a resort outside Phoenix. We were working with a group of people– all Navajo– from the Navajo Nation. It was a multi-day workshop and on the second morning when I went for my run among the saguaro cactus, I saw one of the participants also out for run. We waved and greeted each other.

Later, when we had gathered for the second day of the workshop, he said that as Navajos they believe it's important to start the day by "taking our steps"– if possible, when the sun is rising.

I didn't realize it at the time but it's something I do every day. As the years have gone on and I've gathered more dogs into my home, my run got earlier and earlier so to allow time for them to have their walks as well.

Each morning I am out before the sun comes up and finishing with Chaco's short walk to the park by the time daylight is covering the city. 

And during that time, I see how much I appreciate not just darkness turning to light but the space of reflection that gives me. For years I have been praying on my run-walk with Chaco, giving thanks for the day before and asking for what I need in my life. 

But about a month ago I hurt my leg after an accident with Lilly, my youngest dog– as she was flying down the stairs, I was walking up then and she ran her head into my knee. I had several days where I wasn't allowed to go on a walk at all. Not taking my steps as darkness turned to light, my routine upside down, took a toll on the importance of the morning to me and the way that I start my day. 

We shouldn't just reflect on the day when it is over, but as it's beginning, giving us perspective to make the most of what's ahead of us.