A Runner's Story #4: The beauty of the unknown

Most of the time, when I begin a run, I already have a route in mind. I usually know about how long it is, how long it will take to complete, and exactly where I will be at any given moment. I'm prepared for traffic, picking routes that will keep me away from crowded roads, or well-lit areas if I'm running at night.

Today's run began that way. Kat and I picked a road we are familiar with, one on which we ran often during our cross country days. After fifteen minutes, we decided not to turn around like usual, instead opting to discover where this road eventually leads. By the time we realized where we were headed, an out-and-back was out of the question. So we pressed on. Our next turn took us to another familiar road with another chance for discovery.

What most interests me is how much detail I can remember from this run: the blue-gray sky marked with thick, puffy clouds; the dead armadillo with its blood splattered on the ground and flies enjoying its flesh; the rich green grass that surrounded us on all sides; the horses--some roaming free in their fields, one tied to a pole; the dust and dirt blown into our faces as cars and trucks zoomed by at ungodly speeds.

We ran. We counted sixteen dogs who greeted us as we passed their residence (note: that's 16 dogs, one residence). We ran. We disturbed a chicken/kitten and its neighborly rooster friend. We ran. We invaded a church hosting a Boy Scouts event. We ran.

After a brief break to catch our breaths, we ran some more. I am amazed at how great I felt, considering I hadn't run in six days. Not knowing where I was headed or what I would encounter each moment left me feeling free and exhilarated. This was the most beautiful and relieving run I've been fortunate enough to experience in months, possibly years, though tomorrow morning's run will likely not treat us with as much hospitality.

The road continued.

An encounter with friendly passers-by revealed to us the realization we anticipated: this road will not lead us back to Kat's car. A decision had to be made. By phoning a friend, my beloved Kat and I were blessed with a ride back to our starting line, not the exciting ending a reader would hope for, but certainly pleasant for two runners with miles behind them.

As I reflect on the afternoon's run, I realize this: routes are like routines. We learn to depend on them, thinking they are stone and safe to build on. But it's okay to reroute, to change directions and even your destination. There are so many roads out there, and each holds its own sense of beauty. When you restrict yourself to the familiar, you become blind to the beauty around you. It becomes necessary to seek it out on other roads, if only to remember what beauty really is.

Ugh

...that moment when you have to audibly tell yourself to "SUCK IT UP!"

You've been there, in that state of mind, pathetic and whiny. You have only one blank box awaiting its check mark for the day, and now is the time to complete the task. Curse words travel through your mind.  You call up your buddies, hoping someone will give you an excuse not to physically exert yourself in ANY way; check the forecast-if it's cold and rainy, you're not going; rewrite your "List of things to do today" because it should be prettier; check your body for aches and pains that deserve rest.

Nope.

You slowly arise from the couch, head to the kitchen for hydration, a good excuse to stall. Maybe once you're dressed for the workout it will be easier. Nope. Tie your shoes. Swing your arms to loosen up. Pop your back and neck. Stretch a bit, which ultimately means letting your upper body fall over and hang limply until you decide enough blood has rushed to your head that it's time to straighten up. Don't forget the iPod. 
You're ready to go. damn it. 

Here it comes, 'cause you know you can't afford to skip another day, another workout. Even though you're convinced that you can  live with yourself if you don't go, you know you'll punish yourself later. The Oreos are calling your name.

"Suck it up." Open the door. Step outside. Shut the door. Lock it. Turn and go.



This has NEVER happened to me...

Conquering hills

I LOVE running hills. You may think I'm crazy, perhaps even demented, but I find a certain thrill in pushing myself against gravity, against comfort, against reason.

Gravity says "conform," that we should all stay in one place, never venturing out, taking no "paths less traveled."
Comfort means not exerting enough energy to excel, endure, strengthen. Any athlete knows that achievements, trophies, improvements cannot be earned by remaining in a state of comfort.
Reason persuades us to accept the impossible, to give in to gravity, to choose comfort over discomfort.

Here's the really sickening part: I enjoy the pain of pressing up an incline, the sweat of exertion. I put my head down, lean forward, stick my elbows out a bit, push off of my toes, and pick my knees up.

My high school coach passed on wise advice; the key to conquering a hill is to maintain your speed and intensity after you've reached the top. He never explained why, but left the logic to each individual runner. My thinking is this: Running at a certain pace UP HILL will always be harder than running at that same pace on a level surface. So if you push yourself up the hill, even keeping at the same pace afterward will still be a relief. So why slow down? (That's a rhetorical question, for you "wise" ones.)

I also LOVE metaphors.

Stay golden, Ponyboy.