Freestyle | No Apologies at the Starting Block

It was raining on the trail today, the real kind of rain that soaks you through and sharpens the world instead of softening it. The dirt darkened, the air thickened, and the trail quietly cleared out.

Rain has a way of doing that. It separates those who are waiting from those who are willing.

Out there, between slick roots and breathing trees, I crossed paths with a few runners. Not many. Just enough. Each one was soaked, smiling, and fully in it. Every exchange carried the same quiet understanding, sometimes spoken out loud, sometimes just nodded. This is awesome. Somewhere between those moments, it landed clearly.

This field note is for us.

Penguins Know the Block

Penguins understand starting blocks better than we do. Their block is ice—uneven, unforgiving, and perched above water so cold it looks like a terrible idea. Penguins are famously awkward on land. They wobble, shuffle, and look like they are negotiating with gravity itself.

They gather at the edge and hesitate, not because they are afraid, but because timing matters. They lean forward, lean back, crane their necks, and dramatically overthink the moment like a group of friends daring each other to jump.

Then one goes.

As Dogen reminds us,

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“When it is time to go, go. When it is time to stop, stop.”

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Commitment Is Contagious

The moment one penguin commits, the spell breaks. Another follows. Then another. Suddenly the ice edge turns into a launch pad, and what looked like hesitation becomes a flurry of belly-first leaps into freezing water.

There is no countdown. No perfect form. No apology tour.

Just commitment.

Life hands us edges like this all the time. Cold moments. Unclear conditions. Invitations that do not come wrapped in comfort. Some people stay on the ice forever, adjusting imaginary goggles and waiting for better circumstances.

We recognize the edge when we feel it. We step up not because we are fearless, but because standing still starts to feel less honest than moving forward.

Trail Built Penguins

The runners I passed today were not strangers. They were mirrors. There was no talk of pace or distance, no comparing or measuring. Just that quick look that says, yes, you are in this too.

We are the ones who do not need ideal conditions to feel alive. We are the ones who do not need permission to begin. We are the ones who understand that comfort is overrated and presence is everything.

This is not exclusion. It is recognition.

Alive in Motion

Here is the part that matters most. Penguins look clumsy on land because land is not where they are meant to shine. The moment they hit the water, everything changes. Wobble becomes precision. Hesitation becomes endurance. What looked uncertain becomes fluid and exact.

They do not compare their jump to the penguin beside them. They do not worry about who entered first. They enter because that is where they belong.

Rain does the same thing to us. The trail smells deeper. Breathing gets louder. Every step asks for attention. You stop performing and start participating. Some people see rain as a problem. We see alignment.

The Race Dissolves

Once we leave the block, comparison fades. Some runners pass us. Some we pass. Some arrive later and wonder why they waited so long. None of it matters.

Penguins do not race each other into the water. They simply jump and swim their own line. The block was never about performance. It was about willingness.

This Is How We Live

We do not wait for perfect timing or warm conditions. We do not need applause or guarantees. We step to the edge when the moment is real, cold, and honest, and we go.

Not to prove anything. Not to arrive anywhere impressive. But because motion is how we remember who we are.

If you are out there running in the rain, stepping forward when others step back, and trusting your own leap off the ice, this field note is yours. Jump messy. Swim true. Meet the world mid-current.

Leap in. No apologies.

Cheers!

Kether

“It is not the strongest of the species

that survives, nor the most intelligent,

but the one most responsive to change.”

— Charles Darwin