This week, I am sidelined by a minor injury that, coupled with the cold, left me deciding to play it conservatively and do other things this week besides running. Finish papers. Do yoga. Ride my bike. Dance.
Ohhhh yes. Not at a club or a class. Just me. Intensely. Crystal Method, Skillet, Banco de Gaia, Enigma. Wild flutes or drums. Omnia (while picturing myself in the trees, of course). Fast or slow, I choose to dance how I feel at that moment.
There is no set pattern. I couldn’t do a set routine if you put a gun to my head. That stuff is great, but really, where’s the free expression in that?
My dance is my movement, and it’s free. Undulating, whole body freedom. As I move, my spirit moves with my breath, and I am transported to a place with water and warmth and light. It is green and I trip lightly over rocks, bang against trees as drums, twirl in the golden rays of the sun.
Hmm, you know, that’s my run too. Even at temps below zero, I am in that green space.
I think maybe part of my injury is due to focusing too much on form and not enough on freedom.
Dance, sway, float. Power, fly, leap. Spin and spread wide, embracing whichever emotion takes over at the moment. Aahhh yes, that is running, to me.
In my mind, they are one and the same.