Seven miles around Salem Lake. No earphones, just foot strikes and…

The path ahead twists and turns, revealing the distant main entrance as I weave my way around the lake. Bare trees stand like sentinels, their fallen leaves creating a mosaic on the ground. The water is neither still nor restless; just moving, like me. Birds cut through the overcast sky, their wings skimming the surface. At mile six, the sun makes a brief yet triumphant appearance, casting light over the landscape as if to remind me it’s still there.

The wind whispers through the branches, brushing past my ears. My footfalls crunch against the dirt path, steady, rhythmic. My breath, measured and present, a reminder of movement and effort. Runners pass, their cadence different from mine. Cyclists zoom by in quick bursts, the sound of gears shifting and wheels humming over gravel. A bird calls. Another answers.

Cool air meets warm skin. My body adjusts, heating up with each stride. Wool socks insulate my feet, my Tracksmith shorts allow easy motion, and my Nike Yoga Turtleneck pullover keeps me comfortable. My arms swing naturally. My feet strike and push off, steady and sure. The watch on my wrist tracks everything; heart rate, steps, elevation… while I simply feel it all.

The damp, earthy scent of the trail lingers in the air. Faint traces of pine. A whiff of the lake, not stagnant, but fresh, carrying hints of movement. Occasionally, the scent of damp wood rises as I pass over fallen branches and decomposing leaves.

Only the crispness of the air as I breathe in deeply, filling my lungs. A taste of exertion, of effort, of forward motion.

Seven miles. No distractions. Just my senses, my breath, my movement.