Soldiering On - Finding Purpose beyond the Old Routine
Some mornings, I step out into the cold, silent dawn, and it’s as if I’m right back in the field—minus the uniform and the kit checks. The chirping birds, the faint glow on the horizon, and that odd mixture of nervous anticipation and calm—all of it reminds me of those early Army days. There’s comfort in that familiarity. Civilian life might offer more freedom, but it can’t quite replicate that undeniable sense of purpose I used to feel the moment I woke up back then.
Before an ultra, though, I still do my own version of a “kit check.” Back in the military, we’d lay everything out—from socks to shaving gear, water bottles to webbing—to ensure nothing was forgotten. Now, I spread my running essentials across the floor: shoes, socks, hydration vest, gels, headlamp, spare batteries. The items have changed, but the principle is the same: be prepared, be ready. It’s a small echo of my old life, and it connects me to that feeling of being mission-focused.
When you’re surrounded by some of the best of the best—folks who can go for days in the worst conditions and just get on with it—it skews your perception of “normal.” Stepping into civilian life felt like moving to another planet; the everyday stresses people flip out over seem trivial compared to the challenges I was used to. But I soon discovered that my sense of discipline and “mission” didn’t automatically translate to the new environment. Personal struggles piled on, and I found myself teetering on the edge of an existential meltdown.
Instead of letting that meltdown define me (for too long at least), I found something else to anchor me: running. Slipping out the door at zero-dark-thirty mimics that old structure—I’m up early, gear prepped, and ready to move. No commanding officer, no platoon standing by, just my own two feet hitting the ground. There’s a strange peace in that. I let my mind wander, knowing that by the time I finish, half my worries will be sorted out. As for the other half? Well, there’s always tomorrow’s run.
I’m 40 now, and I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. Sure, I’ve built a decent career, but it doesn’t set my soul on fire. Some days, I catch myself wondering if I’m any good at it anymore. Then I remember I’ve got a family relying on me, so I keep my head down and push through. Running has become the constant thread that ties my days together, reminding me I can still find structure, even if it’s one step at a time.
If you’re in a similar boat—missing the structure of an old routine, or feeling stuck in a job that doesn’t quite spark joy—maybe it’s time to find something that anchors you. For me, it’s running. For others, it might be writing, or woodworking. The important part is building a little ritual that helps you think, reflect, and reset. “Things change like the weather,” as they say, and life can get pretty dark and stormy. But if there’s one thing the military taught me, it’s how to improvise, adapt, and keep going, even when the path ahead is murky.
Dark Trails is my way of exploring that murkiness—both the literal, early-morning haze in the forest and the metaphorical haze in my mind. It’s about finding yourself in the in-between places, where it’s not completely dark but not quite light yet. So, here’s to all of us who are still Soldering On, marching toward something, even if we haven’t figured out exactly what that “something” is. Lace up, go find your new “mission,” and above all else, keep moving forward.
