I poured my coffee and sipped it as I turned on the morning news. Mark had gone to work, one child was at a friend’s house, and the other two kids were sleeping. I muted the volume on the news because I wasn’t really interested (or maybe I was just weary of it) and wondered what to do with my free morning. I decided that driving over to the state park to run trails sounded like a good idea. After all, I’m trying to run again after dealing with knee pain for months, and the shaded trails sounded ideal. I threw on some running clothes and shoes, grabbed my water pack and headed out the door.

In the past when I’ve had the idea to go run trails alone, I’ve talked myself out of it. This time, I didn’t give myself much time to rationalize my decision. I just went with it.

Upon arriving at my destination, I parked at a familiar location where my husband and I have run trails before, and I set out on my morning adventure. I didn’t pay particular attention to which trail I should run; I just thought I’d run near the lake and be fine. Not far into my run, I did stop to look at a posted map. Now I’m not great with directions, but I can somewhat read a map thanks to being old enough to have used them before GPS was a thing. However, I had a difficult time reading those trail maps, so I forged ahead, deep into the woods.

I turned up the volume on my phone so I could hear the playlist I’d selected for my run, not so much considering that I might need to hear oncoming cyclists. As I ran alone on the gnarled, curving paths, I began to wonder if I might run across a snake. About that time, I heard a noise just ahead of me — a rattlesnake, no doubt! A split second later, a cyclist came around the curve towards me, scaring me nearly to death. The rattlesnake I heard was simply a bicycle. I journeyed on.

After a couple of turns, I found myself completely lost. I was nowhere near the lake and had no clue how which path led to it. I stopped at another map, and after being unable to even determine where I was, I followed the sign for the horse trail that promised to lead me to the lake trail. I dodged horse poop, swatted gnats, and ran without seeing another soul for what seemed like hours (okay, it was actually only about ten minutes).

I imagined snakes falling out of trees onto my head. I envisioned myself breaking an ankle from tripping over a root and not being able to make my way out of the woods. I wondered if I’d pass out from heat exhaustion (after all, it’s the middle of July in Alabama, which means it’s hot and muggy). I thought about how I would never make it on one of those survival TV shows. I was two and a half miles into the woods and still nowhere near the lake, so I decided I’d better turn off my music and save my phone battery. If I truly ended up lost for hours, I might need to humiliate myself by calling my husband for help.

I kept running and walking, knowing the trails would eventually have to end somewhere. Finally, four and a half miles into my journey, after I thought I might die from heat and starvation (even though it had only been two hours since I’d eaten), I saw the lake. I knew where I was! I knew how to get back to my car, to air conditioning! I ran alongside the lake, looking across at the spot where I sat and wrote a song on a winter’s day. I’d finally relaxed into the run and was able to allow myself to think about something other than surviving. (Seriously, I’m not dramatic at all.)

I posted on social media about my morning adventure, poking fun at myself and my haphazard run. My husband had a good laugh at me when I called to tell him about my morning. While it was a fun morning, and I’m glad I went, I did realize something. I’ve made a lot of progress in my personal journey over the last year or so, but I discovered that I sometimes still default to fearful thinking, especially when alone.

I spend a lot of time alone. It’s the nature of my creative, mostly-introverted personality. In fact, I need to be alone a good portion of the time in order to create.