Thoughts on Balance

I can’t smell anything. I can’t even smell myself. No wood smoke burns my nose. Most days, the sour smell of the cardboard plant freezes in the ice crystals inside my nose. But today I smell nothing. Even the cold turkey I’m eating—I can taste it and I can only smell it backwards when I push air out my nose. It’s lightly salted. I’m hungry. Eating it fast. I spent the whole morning in a basement in front of a computer, just letting it suck the life out of me, absentmindedly. Now, my dog sprints in and out to of my radius after an icy tennis ball. I only hear him when he gets close. A raven barks from the top of a skeleton tree and breaks the brittle air.

I’m in Missoula, Montana. I’ve been here for two years. In May I will graduate with a masters in Environmental Science from the University of Montana. I’m in the midst of several big projects, from writing a non-fiction book about life on my family ranch where I built a log house, to entomology research on the Colorado River.

As much as I love academics, some days I feel like I’m drowning in law, policy, papers, and readings. I keep my head above water with a commitment to getting outside for an hour or two every day. I trail run, cross country ski, and hike, always with my dog. In the winter, I get out of class at 4:30, bike home, jump into my ski boots, and get on the trail. I don’t listen to music and I can hardly see the ground in the dark. I let my eyes run way ahead down the trail and I listen to myself breathe. I start out in the light and get back to my car in the dark. I love standing there in the parking lot, next to my car, the last one there. My muscles are warm and I hang down, stretching my legs and back, breathing out the tension that builds up in front of my computer.

Sometimes I have to juggle so much to get out for that hour or two. I bring extra clothes to work or school so I can run during lunch or between classes. Sometimes I get up early to ski in the sunrise. When my schedule gets too busy, maybe my time outdoors should be the first thing to fall off of my proverbial plate. But I can’t let it fall—I have to bury it deep in the pile on the plate, giving it an entrenched importance that rivals work or school or papers. None of those things will turn out well or happen effectively without the balance I find in the outdoors.

And it’s not just exercise. This balance that I’m talking about can’t happen indoors at a gym. I walked through a gym the other day and paused by the treadmills. The ground under my feet quaked with the impact of all those feet running in place. I exited out the back and dropped down to the river trail. Hail pelted my face and I couldn’t quite keep my eyes open, but I reunified myself with the world. I was there to feel the weather—to respond to changing seasons. I ski when there is snow and run when there is dirt. Sometimes I use my Yaktracks on ice in between.

I go everyday, because I believe there is clarity out there.

SARAHLEE LAWRENCE is a 2008 featured athlete, river rafting guide and experiential educator who lives an adventurous life running rivers, researching riparian environments, training horses, farming and writing... {more»}