Footfall by Mike Kratzer
Mike Kratzer runs. See for yourself.
RUNNING THOUGHT is Mike’s writings in response to someone giving him only one word of inspiration.
‘Footfall’ supplied by Josh Rosenthal
Trail running is built from footfalls — raw, rhythmic, sometimes sloppy, always sacred.
Each one is a little act of defiance against gravity, asphalt, and the chaos you left behind in the city.
You don’t glide like a gazelle.
You hammer the earth with whatever parts of you haven’t fallen apart yet.
Ankles screaming, knees tracking like rusty hinges, hips negotiating with God.
But still — the beat.
The thud-thud-scrape-slap of your soles on wet leaves, pine needles, loose shale.
It’s your heartbeat externalized.
A percussion of progress.
In the forest, nobody hears your footfall but the trail, and maybe a squirrel who now thinks you’re a threat to national security.
There’s no room for elegance.
You trip. You recover.
You learn the gospel of uneven terrain, of roots that reach like snakes, of mud patches that suck at your shoes like they're hungry for weakness.
And yet you go on — not chasing speed, but that moment when the rhythm takes over.
When your brain shuts off and your body becomes pure motion.
The trail doesn’t care about pace.
It cares about presence.
And nothing screams I’m here like the blunt, honest music of a footfall that doesn’t stop.
