It flared up around mile three, at the top of an undulating trail in Santa Fe I’ve been running several mornings a week since moving here last November. The narrow cord above my right heel stopped me in my tracks. Right when all systems said go. Heart, lungs, muscles..perfect harmony in motion. Alas, instead of floating amidst the Pinon and Junipers dotting the trail’s borders and admiring the halo of mountain views, I stopped. Hobbled home, and propped my foot up on a bag of frozen peas saved for moments like this. Because this wasn’t the first time.

Kicking a ball is overrated

I started running around age 12, at the urging of a soccer coach who told my mom I was useless on the field: “she just runs up and down the sidelines and avoids the ball like it’s radioactive.” Also around that time, a pissed off PE teacher punished our unruly class by forcing us to run a two-mile muddy lap on a wet Seattle morning. I finished first, wondering how this could be considered punishment. Thus my running obsession was born. Five Ks led to 10Ks led to half and ultimately full marathons over the next several decades. Racked up a few top 10s in my age group too.

Along with that came several bouts of Achilles tendonitis. Left, right, sometimes both. Not totally surprising given my DNA. My late Pop tore his running to first base in a fast pitch game, and schlepped his six-foot-five frame around in a cast for months. Like his, mine too are fragile. And short. If I attempt to do a pistol squat, I fall flat on my ass. And not from lack of leg and core strength. But none of that stopped me from running. I found a podiatrist and fellow running geek who designed special inserts for my shoes and created a training plan to get me through my first marathon. I tried Acupuncture, anti-inflammatory diets, calf raises, even prayers. Anything to let me head outside and run. Unlike every other sport I tried, running gave me confidence. I didn’t suck. In fact, I was pretty good at it.

Better than Google maps

If you’ve read any of my previous posts, you’ll know I’ve changed towns. A lot. Big towns, snowy suburbs, southern low country, dry desert..I’ve racked up a lot of pins on my map app. Every town, I’ve had to figure out what’s where. A Cambridge supermarket with a parking lot that won’t chalk my tire. Dry cleaner that’ll give my husband the same pair of pants back as the ones he brings in. Gas station that isn’t next to a tricky New Jersey jug handle. I’ve learned to get around. But knowing my way around isn’t enough. To feel at home, I need to run.

A corporate center loop off Route 1

When I struggle to remember all the places I’ve lived the past decade, I think about where I ran. With each new address, I created a running route that started at the front door and took me out to greet the rising sun. Not every route would go down into Runner’s World greatest hits, but all were memorable to me, and connected me to my then home. Running the Inner Harbor in Baltimore was especially sweet, and usually included a detour post run to a Fell’s Point gelato shop. A Princeton, NJ apartment led me to Carnegie Center, a somewhat sterile concrete loop off Route 1 but always put me in direct contact with a family of deer sharing the road. Spectacular. Hilton Head offered pine straw covered trails leading to the most gorgeous beach I’ve ever known. Those runs often turned into barefoot walks and conversations with my late papa in the sky. And now there’s Santa Fe..home to endless trails surrounded by the Sangre de Cristo and Jemez mountains. Ridiculous.

Um, you could just walk

And that often means Talk. To. Others. Yep, I get enough of that walking my new rescue pup who’s more extroverted than me. And cute as hell. Walking also doesn’t allow me to sweat, breathe hard, or test my internal grit running up steep trails in high altitude. These things remind me that I’m alive, fit, healthy and blessed at age 55, when an increasing number of my peers aren’t.

My injured Achilles has put all this on hold, however, until it heals. If it does. It may not. But I’ll keep my running memories alive, and manifest that sense of home in other ways, like actually talking to people in my new neighborhood, riding my bike outdoors, getting to know my yoga students, and starting conversations in one of the several cool coffee shops I’m discovering in Santa Fe.