Racing the Bolder Boulder 2010
I’ve had this in my head for quite a long time. Years I could argue. So, perhaps it is time to get it out. If I can. I choose to write as I think. In unfinished bits and phrases. In grammatically incorrect sentence structure. Jumbles of words. No real editing to speak of.
Of-course this would be better if I could actually write while running. You see, that is the point. I think clear. Crystal. I solve world problems. I can even do math (inside joke for those of you that have watched me divide a dinner check. Painful. Very painful).
Any distance runner will tell you once they get over the insanity of running. Pain. Distance. There is a high. Adrenaline kicks in. Mind wanders. I feel a hum. It is when the atoms, ions and bits that make up my body start to vibrate at the pace of the world around me. Not the city, not the cars, not the other people. I’m talking about the world. The planet. I feel the planet hum. No drug could ever get me there. Running does. Not all the time. That is part of the problem. Got to keep running to get to the hum. If not today, tomorrow.
Once I strike. Once the hum takes over, my mind is clear. My body is running. My body is propelled. Synapses in my brain have taken over the movements. I’m left largely out of it now. The rest of the gray matter has room to move. Room to think. Did I eat too much today. Should I have called my contact again. Would that be too pushy. Am I happy. What can I do to be happier. Am I any good.
I didn’t say they were all good thoughts. Just thoughts. But the strangeness of running is the ability to propel your body over a distance. Your body is unwilling at first. Then complacent. Then eager. Negativity enters the brain. It is filtered through the heart. Pounded out by the feet.
It is a washing cycle. Cleaning is important. I can only deal with so much clutter. Running pounds it out. The extra crap. The crap in general.
And what is left? Clean space. Clean board. I can write whatever I want on it. My body knows what my mind does not always accept. If I can run a 10k at over 5,200 feet and feel strong. Like it even. Look forward to doing it again next year. Then I can get through tomorrow. If I can accept, that at mile 18 in a marathon, I am a bitch. I hurt. I’m tired. But I’m not going to stop. I will finish no matter how slow I run, then it doesn’t matter how long it takes me to reach my goals. I will.
My feet. Eager and nervous to race.
If I can accept that some days I run fast and other days I run slow, but the only constant in that phrase are the words ‘I run’… well, I don’t know what that means yet. But I run. I’ll be starting the training for a marathon shortly, so maybe I’ll even figure it out soon.
That is the strangeness of running. Turn off the brain and go. Then let it wander. Pound out the crap. Leave space for something else. Run.
