For the love of running

On my early morning flight home from Portland, my plane banked left over the Santa Cruz mountains and I spotted a dirt path running the length of the ridge. I had brief vision of me running on a mountain trail and I wondered if you had to have something taken from you (at least temporarily) to realize how much it means it you.

A couple weeks ago someone said to me "You must really love running". I responded that, actually, I don't. It's complicated really, like most relationships are. On the same topic, someone once said to me that I shouldn't force myself to do something I don't enjoy. But I thought, Quit running? That would be dumb. And I've always wondered how I really felt about running.

Anyone who has sat and listened to me hem and haw while lacing up my shoes would wonder why on earth I continue to do this. My thinking was that if you love doing something, you can't wait to get out and do it. Well... it is not a common occurrence for me to yearn for a run... unless someone has told me I can't.

What I do love is how when I find my stride and get into my groove, my world is both sharpened and blurred at the same time. I take in everything around me: sights, smells, temperature, the breeze, my footsteps, the twinge in my calf, the slope of the path, the runners and cyclists around me, the sound of my breath and the tension in my shoulders. Simultaneously though, everything around me fades away. It's like picking up a clue, examining it closely, then dropping it on the ground and forgetting about it. Take it in, let it go, leave it behind. Often on my runs I can't think back to the miles behind me and remember what they were like. I can't think back to 5 minutes ago and remember my train of thought.

Generally there is a certain peace when I run. Even on the toughest runs. There is peace in suffering if you do it right. Take it in, let it go. Don't dwell on it, don't reminisce. Don't carry your suffering from mile 7 with you to mile 10. You are not in the same place. Let it go, leave it behind with the footprints you left back at mile 7.

Fatigue and pain pounce on me and I feel them, then let go. It fades. Not away. It doesn't go away but I drop it from my mind and see the next thing. The next rise in the path, rock in the way, the next breath, the next shift in my body position. Suffering has taught me to let go.

So maybe I don't enjoy interrupting my peaceful morning of plodding around my house in the dark, drinking coffee and waiting for the sun to rise, in order to go outside to bathe in discomfort. But what I do love about running is finding that on/off switch for all the pain, frustrations, worries, discomfort and anger. When I'm laying in bed at night or sitting quietly on the couch, all those negative things are free to sit with me and hang out in my mind and I'm unable to shut them off or escape. I can't push it behind me like miles run for the day or footprints in the dirt. My love for running is simply that it allows me to let go.