My running trail fell into the lake

Its never been about the photography.

There's a path I try to run down everyday. It's along Lake Michigan, down a narrow gravel stretch. On stormy days, waves crash into the breakers, splashing icy water into my eyes. Other days, the sun bakes the gravel as dust clouds fill the air. In the winter, the ice makes the path nearly impossible to navigate. But I always find ways to slip past the warning signs, impromptu chain link fences, and finish the circuit.

Today as I ran, I stopped. The path had collapsed into the lake, leaving a scar of sharp jagged rock and rusted metal. The regular path was impassable. There were two options, turn back and find a safer route, or jump about 7 feet down onto uneven jagged rocks and navigate the broken unfamiliar path. I jumped, nearly splitting open my knee, as I landed near a twisted metal post. After navigating the new path for a few hundred feet, I pulled myself up back onto the other side. I looked back, briefly took it all in, and made it down the new but familiar path

It's been said obstacles aren't there to stop us, they exist to keep people out who don't want it bad enough. Sometimes the familiar paths or routines we take solace in cease to exist. Nature breaks them, others create them, circumstance feeds them. Whether or not we are responsible for the obstacles, we face two options. We either tackle them and move forward, or we let them deter us and lead us down another path. It's our choice.

Its never been about the photography.