Away We Go: Running to Sit Still
Without running, I could not write.
Without moving my feet forward and breathing deeply and sweating into the creases of my elbows, forming rivulets of sweat that drip off my elbows, there's no way any of these vignettes would have come to being.
Running and I have a complicated history. On the positive side, there is no quicker way to feel better. I'm taking a hit of my own neurochemicals. On the not so stellar side, I've also used it as punishment and compensation for poor intake choices. You consumed this so now you have to balance the scales (literal and figurative). But it's also the thing that brings my brain as close to harmony as I can get on any given day. When asked, what is a good day - it's always one with a run.
It's also a place I've found the depths of friendship. There's a particular magic to early morning runs with people you can discuss the best new restaurant or what your therapist said this session or curse into the dawn air about the unacknowledged misogyny of pandemic life.
Running solo has its perks too. It’s the place where I filter through the experiences of the closely previous days and see what sticks out. It's where, for whatever reason, enough of my brain is occupied that the true things rise to the top. It’s an excavation of my own experiences. If I let it.
In my younger days, there was a guarantee of that that good used-lung feeling and a looseness in my belly. Now I have to outsmart my own mind and consciously use all those yoga breathing techniques. The "high", which is really more of a grounding, doesn't happen every time. Out of daily runs, I usually get one or two good ideas per week.
But here's the thing. As my feet are moving, and my soles are touching the ground and springing back up again, it's like the earth is saying to me - remember this? What about that moment by the river last week? It's ironic that the "this is meaningful" whisper only gets through when my breath is the loudest thing I can hear. That wise and quiet voice cannot penetrate the alarm clock dings, the particular stress of driving in traffic, and the dentist appointments. it needs the space of movement repetition and physical exertion.
The things that can come through are even stronger when the run is first thing in the morning. The thoughts of grocery lists and schedule-fitting can be emptied from my brain tank the first few times they arise in any given day. I have to get out of the way of all the daily things. I am not strong enough to quiet these voices or tamp down on everything that comes my way by myself. I have to be alone I have to be outside and I have to be moving. That's the foundation upon which the words even have a chance of arriving.
Sometimes memories pop up - hey remember that guy with the tattoo of a hawk on his back? There's something writeable there. Or that thing I said to myself I would remember about how I feel when I'm gliding the surface of a lake thinking about all the things beneath and all the layers of the sky but I haven't remembered it since.
That's a post coming about that sometime in the next few days or months. I need to run on it some more. Sometime soon I know I'll round a corner on a trail or a campground loop and the solution will arise. It didn’t today, but tomorrow I’ll try again.
Run to sit still. Run to be still.
Run to listen.
Run to give myself and the people around me the a shot at the best version of me.
This story inspired by events in Pagosa Springs, Colorado.