I’m sitting on my couch writing, feeling like a loaded spring. This is what happens, I guess, when you become a runner.
I ran 5 miles on the first of the year. It was cold, but not the painful or numbing kind. It was breathtaking, exhilarating. The clouds rippled out from the sun, like so:
On the second, I woke to a heavy blanket of snow, and knew the six mile run I’d planned wasn’t happening. I didn’t even bother digging out my car and trying my luck on the treadmill at the gym. Tomorrow, I’ll run, one way or another, I thought.
Because I couldn’t run, I did the next best thing. I dug into “Born To Run” by Christopher McDougall, a book I’d been reading about ultrarunning (any distance longer than a traditional marathon), the way modern sneakers can ruin our feet, cause injuries and a hidden tribe from Mexico, the Tarahumara, who can run for hours, even days across rugged terrain in nothing but a thin sandal. I devoured what was left of the book, which culminated in a 50 mile backcountry race, pitting the best ultrarunners against the Tarahumara.
In the elite running world, there had been lore about the Tarahumara. They were reclusive, mysterious. No one knew their secrets. How curious that they could run like that without getting injured. And more curious, why did they run such great distances, all for fun (it was a game – two days of running! For a game!)?
I’ve learned this lesson in my own way: running becomes a whole other animal once you learn to find joy in it.
It wasn’t love at first step for me. I’d jogged a mile or two off and on over the years. A fair weather runner, I’d have called myself. Before I fell hard for it, I had to shed a lot of baggage, casting off of what I’d assumed was just what runners do. I had to find my own way.
It was much easier to relax into a rhythm once I let go of pace. I’d always thought you just get out there and run as fast as you can and get it over with. But I hated gasping for air, the forced feeling of it all. One day I decided I didn’t care to be the fastest, I only wanted to stick to my word. If I said I’d run 10 miles, I wanted to finish.
Then, I ditched the headphones. As a music lover it seemed natural to pop in earbuds and listen to something with a quick beat, something that might motivate me. As I increased miles, those earbuds started to feel like a distraction, causing a weird throb in my ears. I’d put them in to be a distraction in a good way, not like this. So I tested a music-free run and never looked back. I listen to breath, and the sounds of my steps, and the world around me. And sometimes, when I find that rhythm, I don’t really hear anything at all.
Back to “Born to Run.” I’m thinking about desert running, and the heat. And I’m looking out my window at snow-covered everything. My weather app says it is 0ยบ outside. And I think I want to be my own kind of crazy and try a quick run in it. I’ll just commit to getting out there, even it’s just for a block, something I know I can finish. I need this. I am a loaded spring.
Addendum:
I did get out there and it was glorious. I ran all six miles I’d hoped to run yesterday. Once I made it to the Monon Trail, it was mostly cleared. There were patches that were a wee bit dicey, like where the trail crosses side roads and on the bridges over the canal. But mostly, it was clear and free, and glistening with green salt crystal. For the three miles out, there wasn’t a soul on the trail. It was just me, the birds and the crack of salt underfoot.
Just after turning back towards home I saw a runner moving toward me on the horizon. As he passed, I mustered a nod. What I had really wanted to do was to proclaim: “Cheers to being one of the crazy ones! Isn’t it good to be ALIVE?!”