I first learned about the principle of gliding from running guru Jeff Galloway in 2000, when I was training for my first marathon. Jeff's philosophies are especially popular with beginning runners as he strongly advocates for frequent walking breaks, as often as after every 7 or 8 minutes of running. As I trained for the marathon, I knew that the course was very downhill for the first 16 or so miles. I knew that if I didn't train for that downhill, my quads would not be prepared for the pounding, so I trained every Saturday morning up (and down) City Creek Canyon. The paved path up City Creek is about 5 3/4 miles long (even though the sign says 5 1/2) from gate to gate, mostly uphill the whole way with differing grades of steepness. However, anyone who has spent time in City Creek can tell you where all of the monster hills are; they are brutal running up, and can be very difficult to run down. If you completely give in to gravity, you are going to lose form at best, or go out of control and fall down at worst; but, if you try to maintain your same form as on a more gentle grade, your running gets really tight, your stride becomes sloppy and your muscles feel constricted. This is where I learned to glide. Gliding is a conscious relaxing of your muscles, for me, especially quads and back as you run down a particularly steep hill. It is the perfect in between place of maintaining control and letting go. It is just a little bit scary to try for the first time because it feels, I don't know, dangerous. You have to consciously let go of your control and trust that your body will know what to do, and give in to the gravitational pull. I always have to remember to do it. It is not instinctual to me. About a third of the way down the hill the thought comes to glide. I can physically feel the shift. The paradoxical thing is, the more you let go and relax into the glide, the more you fly. I feel my body relax, my step becomes lighter, and I feel so free. I feel more in control than ever. It feels delicious.
A couple of years ago I started to feel my spiritual ground shift and start to tilt downward. The grade was bearable, however, and felt familiar. I'd been there before. I had traveled a hilly course for many years. It was easy to keep my same pace, my same form. Then, the grade became more steep, and I found myself beginning to tighten, my stride flailing a bit. This last year I spiritually ran through the Rotary Park sign and headed down the long steep path heading down to mile 4. I found I was trying to figure out how to land my strikes so I could stay in control, but I wasn't succeeding. It felt like I kept turning an ankle, finding more side stitches I couldn't breathe through, snapping IT bands. The more I tried to hold on, the more I hurt myself, and the steepness of the grade just keep increasing. Then I had the conscious thought to glide. Give in to the pull. No! Did I mention I am stubborn? Give in. No. Then, I felt I had no choice almost. I was falling down. Unhappy. I had to try. As I did, I felt so good and my soul knew what to do. Then, since that path was way too scary, I rejected it and tightened my grip again. The ground continued to make me stumble. I tried to glide again with the same result. Yes! Frightened, I again pulled back. Finally, I decided to trust the physical principle I had learned to love. I chose to glide. It feels like me again. Suddenly, my mind has relaxed, my soul is at peace, my heart is so happy, my pace has quickened, and I'm learning to FLY! I can almost touch the beautiful blue Utah sky. I'm almost free. And it feels delicious.
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