A friend once described trail running as “a good way to twist an ankle.” I suppose it is. Running on rocky, rootsy ribbons of crooked earth is probably a good way to twist or break a lot of things. It can also serve as a bell of awareness – a reminder that life itself is a continually unwinding path of shifting textures and directions, and that the more rewarding solution is not to avoid the rough spots or pave them smooth, but simply adapt our pace and stride to match the changes. I run paved roads often. But given that one definition of running is controlled falling, then running trail is the more complete experience, a mobile laboratory for learning how to deftly fall into the way things are now, and now, and now, and now.