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32“It is easy: I just put onmy shoes, go for a run andinstantly get thesolitude that I crave”Running behind my friend Jo, my feet follow a second after hers.I unconsciously copy her movements step-for-step as she nimbly hopsfrom rock onto leafy trail, leading me through a dance with the earth.Jo is light on her feet, delicately navigating the technical terrain.We hug the multi- hued cliffs close to Wentworth Falls,magnificent views our constant as we enjoy the rhythmic upsand downs, the steep stairs, and the trail cut into the sandstone.Jo stops. It is a section of trail where water cascades over us fromabove, light reflected in a million tiny drops. We are on theprecipice looking out across the vast Jamison Valley towardsMt Solitary. Jo starts to cry. The stress of the day – the exhaustivebusiness of motherhood, work, and illness – has been released.“This is what I love about trail running,” Jo sniffs. “Nowheredo I feel my emotions so raw, so close to the surface than whenI am running.” With the pressure released she smiles, turns,and starts running again.Walking into Jo’s house is like venturing into the heart ofa tornado. The chaos of three children under the age of eight,and the management of the school routine, soccer practice,sibling rivalry, chores and homework all collide into a fractiouskaleidoscope of energy. Amid all this commotion Jo remains calm.“Trail running has played a huge part in providing me with the quietI need to balance the business of my home life,” she says. “It is easy:I just put on my shoes, go for a run, and instantly get the solitudethat I crave. The trails are peaceful; it’s just me and the bush.”For Jo, the trails have become more than just a place to get a little“me” time. They are a source of friendship, a place for selfdevelopment,and a way to work through emotions that previouslychallenged her. The bush has become her ultimate therapist.Jo was born in Australia, but with a mother hailing from Belfastwas very much raised in an Irish culture. Her family wouldtravel to Ireland several times during her childhood, heryounger memories a contrast between the brittle political realityof Belfast in the 1980’s and the laidback lifestyle of Sydney.“The visits to Ireland seemed quite ‘normal’ to me and I feltprivileged to have two homes and two nationalities.”She continues slowly: “At the time we knew things were quitemessed up over there. We had to be really wary, there wereunspoken rules about which street you could walk down,soldiers patrolling neighbourhoods with machine guns, andon occasion we would wake up to bombs exploding in the night.During this time two of my family members were murdered.”Interpreting these events with the insight of a child made theworld slightly scarier for Jo.“I don’t want to view my time in Ireland as traumatic, as some ofmy best memories were from there, but certain things were difficultto process as a child and even as an adult. Until recently I wasreally wary of being alone, and could not stand to be in the dark.”Jo pauses, and I feel as if she is waiting for me to laugh at thisconfession. The extent of Jo’s anxiety has only been known toher closest friends. She recalls a run several years ago, whenshe was traversing the rugged Mt Solitary with friends: “I hearda loud crack and felt pain shoot right up my leg.”This would later be diagnosed as a stress fracture, but in themoment Jo knew that she would have to cut her run short.Nevertheless, despite blinding pain, Jo did not want to admitto the group that she would be too scared to take the shorter routeby herself. Instead, she continued on another 20km with herfriends, on her broken leg, all to avoid being alone.