Running to Slow Down

“The space and quiet that idleness provides is a necessary condition for standing back from life and seeing it whole." -- Tim Kreider

Five minutes into my near-weekly Sunday Runday ritual (this is the name I have given to my post-church trail run along the river), I sit down on the bench where I always sit down five minutes into my run. It’s a simple, backless wooden bench, dedicated to a man I’ve never met, the gold plaque on its seat proclaiming “here he found beauty and peace.” I sometimes wonder if by “here,” the plaque means this very spot, or if by “here,” the plaque means this general area. Either way, I am grateful for this bench.

“I can’t sit long,” I say to the trees. “I have friends coming over later and I need to get ready.”

“Hello,” I say to the daddy long legs whose spindly appendages cling to the edge of the bench we share.

And with that, I start to stand.

But my attention is arrested by the sonorous howl of a nearby owl, calling out in the trees. I gasp. I settle back onto the bench with the daddy long legs. I sit. I wait. A few seconds pass. In the distance, a second owl answers. The first responds. I sit for several minutes, eavesdropping on their woodland conversation, ignoring my own disclaimer about time.

When I stand to run again, I am invigorated with awe and wonder. Not long after my encounter with the owls, I meet with a fellow runner. He’s running hard and wearing headphones. I hope what he’s listening to is good, because I feel quite certain it’s not as good as the conversation I just heard between two owls hidden amongst the October foliage, and I feel rather sad for him, missing out.

Once upon time, though, I was that runner–running as fast and as hard and as long as I could, headphones pumping with heart-thumping music to keep me going. It was invigorating. It was enlivening.

But so is the forest. So are the crickets. So is the birdsong.

And I realize: I no longer run to speed up; these days, I run to slow down.

I don’t need the endorphin rush anymore. I don’t crave the adrenaline rush. In fact, all I want is to stop rushing. I don’t want to rush anymore at all.

I’m not on the trail today to get faster or stronger or fitter or more attractive. Maybe I was once. Okay–I was once. I have a box full of medals and trophies–even a copy of Runners World that includes a candid photo of me running their half marathon in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, a decade ago. And I’m still proud of these tokens of that strength and endurance. But nowadays I’m on the trail to find some peace and quiet, to cultivate a different kind of strength, a different kind of endurance. I’m here to see the blue heron emerge from the reeds across the river. To hear the splash of mallards landing on the glassy water. To say hello to every single dog that lopes up to me on the trail. And if I can maintain a little fitness while I’m at it, fabulous.

As I near the end of my run, I stop and sit in a cradle of roots at the base of a large sycamore leaning over the river. Like the bench, this is a favorite spot of mine. I have come to think of the tree as my own. I am suspended above the water in its roots. It was this tree that, one day last winter, first tempted me to stop while I was out for a run. Never before would I have dreamed of stopping mid-run. But here I have stopped on every run since. Here I have learned to slow down, take a breath, steal a little moment, regain my footing.

The river flowing beneath me where I sit with my tree never stops moving, but doesn’t rush anywhere either. It rolls along at its own sweet, steady pace, which changes according to the season, the weather. Today it is calm and slow and reflective, just as I yearn to be.

What I’m Working On

My Debut Novel: An Expected End

October 16 marked the two-year publication anniversary of my debut novel, An Expected End, a 2024 Chanticleer International Book Award semi-finalist.

My Current Work-In-Progress: The Good Curse

I’m currently reading back through my completed second draft of The Good Curse, which reflects significant revisions.

Did you know…?

Dogs were not immune to accusations. In fact, there are records of two dogs involved in witchcraft accusations during the Salem Witch Trials. The first was shot after an afflicted girl accused it of attempting to bewitch her. Like all of the humans accused, the dog’s innocence was realized too late. The second dog was the alleged victim of a witch, but its victimhood did not spare it; it was killed, anyway, and its alleged tormenter fled the village.

Bonus Projects

My (and Archie’s) copies of Chicken Soup for the Soul: Pets, Pets, Pets arrived on October 3. Today is the release date of the book. Archie’s story, “Weclome Home,” appears on page 38. When I wrote it, I hadn’t yet begun Parrot Kindergarten with him, and now that I have, my belief that he understands context and knew exactly what he was saying in the story feels all the more valid. Mark your calendars for November 22, when I’ll be holding a reading to benefit A Pet’s Tale, a non-profit exotic animal rescue.

Outdoor Writing

My 2026 editorial calendar for Explore More in Cooperative Living Magazine has been set. Articles will include pieces on winter hiking, which I’ve been working on since August, possum yoga, a reptile natural history museum, an epic dog walk, and Virginia’s chestnut groves.

Writing Community

Prose and Cons held our October meeting at Hotel Greene, where we shared ghost stories, critiqued each other’s writing, and enjoyed delicious food, drink, and the general atmosphere of a historic hotel with literary history.

On Thursday, I plan to participate in a Zoom meet-and-greet with previously published Chicken Soup for the Soul contributors hosted by Amy Newark, Chicken Soup for the Soul’s Editor-in-Chief.

What I’m Reading

I have almost finished Vanessa Chakour’s Earthly Bodies: Embracing Animal Nature.

Links to My Latest

My most recent piece, “The Magic of Trees: A day at the State Arboretum of Virginia,” appears in the October issue of Cooperative Living Magazine. This piece was a collaboration with a dear friend who also happens to be a talented photograher.

Archie and The Littles

The Littles enjoy a family picnic at a park in Richmond.

Nacho lounges in the grass in our backyard.

The Littles stroll side-by-side on a trail near our home.

Archie, whose 25th birthday is Friday (Halloween!), snuggles with my arm in a tender moment together. I cannot express how much I love when he does this.

What I Saw Outside

The river as seen from my sycamore tree

The trees that surround the bench where I sit at the start of my runs

This egg sac is what remains of the yellow garden spider that lived in my yard late summer into early fall. It’s quite large, about the size of my thumbnail.

Orange peel fungus

A skull nestled amongst the greenery along a trail, in true Halloween fashion

A tiny mushrooms pushes its way up through the dust of a rotted log, golden leaf nearby.

Golden Hour at Beaver Lake, Pocahontas State Park