It’s a given: that snowy mountain tips, running packs and those blue Columbia t-shirts are behind our eyes every second of the day. Counting the nights before planes/buses/hostels/tents. Wondering, anticipating.
Today I went on my last official training run. Maria and I might head out before our Tuesday night flight, but then again, there’s a roof-top pool, jacuzzi and sauna to throw into the equation, so we’ll see what wins.
When I woke up this morning, I thought about everything before this very point. Things like running socks, filling the camelbak, blister plasters and planning routes all jumped before me. What I hadn’t thought about in the last couple of weeks was the actual running.
How ridiculous, you may say. But with major events like these and the training and sacrifices, pain and joy involved, sometimes you forget that you’re just a runner who likes to don their trainers and hit the road a few times a week. You forget that, before all this, you wouldn’t be held to ransom by gear, weather, weight, food, drink, time and miles. You’d just get out there and run.
So that’s what I decided to do today. No camelbak, no watch, no new route: just the old hills, me and my trainers. It was refreshingly simple and pure running happiness.
There might be moments of unhappiness during Cruce de los Andes; there might be moments when the weight feels like tons; when we’re wearing the wrong thing; when the blisters are screaming; when the clock is ticking and we feel like we’re getting nowhere.
But above all that, we’ll be who we always are. Two friends, two girls, two runners. Let’s keep it that simple.