between fault lines
between fault lines
words x
stephanie ouimet
photos x
stephanie ouimet
In February 2025, I went through an exceptional stint of good fortune. I was awarded two grants to make short films about running, offered the chance to speak at a trail-running clinic, won an envious door prize at a work event and took first place in a storytelling contest that sent me on a four-day running retreat in Mexico City. When it rains it pours, but this was all sunshine and maybe just as overwhelming.
The trip was the biggest prize I’ve ever won. I had vast, effusive feelings about it that I struggled to name. I said “I’m so lucky” so many times under my breath while asking for time off and explaining to my family where I would be in mid-March. I called it a blessing, a gift. Then a friend shared this famous quote with me:
The trip was the biggest prize I’ve ever won. I had vast, effusive feelings about it that I struggled to name. I said “I’m so lucky” so many times under my breath while asking for time off and explaining to my family where I would be in mid-March. I called it a blessing, a gift. Then a friend shared this famous quote with me:
“luck is what happens when opportunity meets preparation.”
So I decided to take the luck out of it.
I have a marathon coming up in four weeks and my primary goal is to get to the start line healthy. I can’t rely on luck for that. I have to carefully plan my mileage, warm up, fuel, stretch, foam roll, see my physiotherapist every few weeks, do the exercises she prescribes – all of which are easier said than done. If I have a great race, will I chalk it up to luck? Why then is it so tempting for creatives to shrink away from their successes by claiming luck is responsible for them?
Runners talk about having a base. They mean a foundation of fitness to pull from when they haven’t raced in a while, allowing them to run 10km without hurting too much. I think they also mean something a bit more esoteric: resilience, tolerance, sure-footedness, their weird gait, the brand of shoes they’re married to, the lessons they’ve learnt from other runners and from the constant dedication to their craft over time.
What about writers? Artists?
I have a marathon coming up in four weeks and my primary goal is to get to the start line healthy. I can’t rely on luck for that. I have to carefully plan my mileage, warm up, fuel, stretch, foam roll, see my physiotherapist every few weeks, do the exercises she prescribes – all of which are easier said than done. If I have a great race, will I chalk it up to luck? Why then is it so tempting for creatives to shrink away from their successes by claiming luck is responsible for them?
Runners talk about having a base. They mean a foundation of fitness to pull from when they haven’t raced in a while, allowing them to run 10km without hurting too much. I think they also mean something a bit more esoteric: resilience, tolerance, sure-footedness, their weird gait, the brand of shoes they’re married to, the lessons they’ve learnt from other runners and from the constant dedication to their craft over time.
What about writers? Artists?
I’ve been writing far longer than I’ve been running. I’ve written essays and screenplays and poems and speeches. the words dwarf the kilometres.
And I’ve read, I’ve watched movies, I’ve sung songs. Aren’t those my base? Did I not create the perfect conditions to be willing, able and excited for this opportunity once it was offered to me? Isn’t writing also a craft to build on, practice and refine over a lifetime?
Humans, be they runners or writers (or both), make their own luck. But what preparedness and opportunity fail to account for is real magic. Having the perfect conditions – for running a race, writing an essay or founding a city – does not shield from the improbable having the last say. Mexico City is 700 years old and has a population of 22 million people. The amount of luck created here must be immeasurable. Seismic.
See, Mexico City is a bit of a miracle. A sacred place, promised by the gods. Maybe you’ve heard the story. Maybe you’ve seen the flag. The Mexica people, widely known as the Aztecs after their ancestral homeland of Aztlán, wandered in the desert in search of a sign: an eagle atop a cactus devouring a snake. But Mexico City never needed the signs. It was already full of magic. It already had lava and black rocks, rains and bright stars, power in the air. It’s the oldest and highest metropolis in North America. It was once a lake where floating islands, called chinampas, grew produce that fed the city – including one of the largest outdoor markets in the world. When the Spaniards lost control, the first Indigenous prime minister in the Americas was elected to lead the nation. When you start believing this place is one thing, it becomes another.
Humans, be they runners or writers (or both), make their own luck. But what preparedness and opportunity fail to account for is real magic. Having the perfect conditions – for running a race, writing an essay or founding a city – does not shield from the improbable having the last say. Mexico City is 700 years old and has a population of 22 million people. The amount of luck created here must be immeasurable. Seismic.
See, Mexico City is a bit of a miracle. A sacred place, promised by the gods. Maybe you’ve heard the story. Maybe you’ve seen the flag. The Mexica people, widely known as the Aztecs after their ancestral homeland of Aztlán, wandered in the desert in search of a sign: an eagle atop a cactus devouring a snake. But Mexico City never needed the signs. It was already full of magic. It already had lava and black rocks, rains and bright stars, power in the air. It’s the oldest and highest metropolis in North America. It was once a lake where floating islands, called chinampas, grew produce that fed the city – including one of the largest outdoor markets in the world. When the Spaniards lost control, the first Indigenous prime minister in the Americas was elected to lead the nation. When you start believing this place is one thing, it becomes another.
Aire Libre’s trips are centred on consciousness. Participants are encouraged to turn off their notifications, actively listen to each other, be kind to their bodies and begin each run with intention. This makes the retreat less about the running and more about the runners. And it gave me the space to figure out what to do with my feelings which, in the end, was nothing at all. All I had to do was accept them. But how is one to react when life offers up only goodness? And was it so difficult for me because I spent most of my time on the back foot, expecting the other shoe to drop, not fit properly and give me blisters?
These are weird times. Particularly for four Americans and two Canadians on a running trip led by Mexicans in their home country.
These are weird times. Particularly for four Americans and two Canadians on a running trip led by Mexicans in their home country.
what are we choosing to do, faced with our growing dread of the future? how are we supposed to accept abundance? because we did.
Above all, we went to run with others. We all showed up with our own base, our own foundation of beliefs and experiences and rituals. Could we accept each other’s inherent goodness right away? After all, it’s always about the people in the place. Without them, there is no story, no codex with the eagle on the cactus, no revolution, no student protests, no Olympics, no one to keep speaking Indigenous languages. And without them, there is no running culture to join from far and wide.
so I went to mexico city for the magic. for the things you can’t control and the base you can’t build.
For the stuff you can’t see or predict, the leaps of faith, the dreams retold after waking, the seeds in the jet-black soil. The magic of exception, not perfection. I ran in a city that was once a lake built on top of three fault lines. I ran with lungs and legs screaming for oxygen, higher above sea level than I’d ever been before. I ran with people who spoke four languages but all knew how to laugh and holler and put one foot in front of the other. We rode a long flat trajinera at sunrise on canals just 20cm deep. We saw Popocatépetl cough up ash. We stood on volcanic rocks in city squares while purple jacaranda blooms rained around us. We crawled into a dark temazcal, a Mayan sweat lodge, to shed our masks and be reborn from the womb of the earth. We found a dead monarch butterfly on the trails and saw it as a symbol of connection, against all odds, between all North Americans.
People are the miracle. We build cities on water and run for days in the desert. We crack our hearts wide open to strangers. In Mexico City, the ground will shake and the buildings will sink and the volcanoes may erupt and the water may return. Temples and regimes will fall, governments will be elected, runners will run and artists will create. The improbable will prevail, just like magic. What a powerful, ancient place to be reminded that change, geological or societal, is eternal. If you look for the signs, you’ll see them.
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this story originally appeared in print, in like the wind magazine issue #45
stephanie was the winner of the ‘run your story’ contest, a collaborative contest between ciele athletics and aire libre, where she was able to take part in one of aire libre’s amazing global run experiences.
—
this story originally appeared in print, in like the wind magazine issue #45
stephanie was the winner of the ‘run your story’ contest, a collaborative contest between ciele athletics and aire libre, where she was able to take part in one of aire libre’s amazing global run experiences.
about the author
writer and filmmaker from montreal, now living in vancouver, canada, with a predilection for telling women’s stories and running very long point to point trails.
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