I run a lot. Sometimes I run a race, a long race that most people go, “huh? 30 miles? 50 miles? 100 miles?” Sometimes I jog out my front door and run a mile at 5 a.m. just to get some headspace before the busy day of parenting and working. Sometimes I hike, run, slog, hike, jog, etc down a long trail for days with a backpack of essentials. I track my progress on my watch, on my phone, ticking off the miles in a journal.
Last year, I ran 2,300 miles-ish. One year I ran, hiked and walked over 6,000 miles.
But what does it mean? What is it for? Sometimes I feel that my running gives me confidence, sometimes it transports me mentally to another plane. And sometimes, it is hollow, empty, grueling steps and numbers on my watch ticking slowly slowly by.
This is the reality of distance sports. We muddle through meaninglessness, suffering sometimes, boredom sometimes, and then we arrive. To the peak, the epiphany, the pure love of life and running. And then we think, aha! I have arrived! I have solved all my (and maybe the world’s?) problems and I am living so presently- in the here and now and life is incredible and how could I have forgotten? THIS, is what I live for.
But then, we are right back in some pain cave. Right back in our spinning thoughts, anxieties, hum drum counting of miles and stats and wrong turns and anxieties.
But this is life. We have to feel all the lows to get to experience the highs. Our hearts are broken, then healed up and in love again. Our minds and spirits grow and learn, then fall into doubts, confusion, maybe hate and constriction. We ebb and flow just like the tide or a river. And running is like this. Ebb and flow. Flow down the switchbacks whopping loudly, “life is beautiful!” Then slog up the muddy ravine muttering to yourself, “I hate everything”
Well, the rivers are rushing lately so I suppose a flow is coming. Summer is nearly here and I am ready to live fully, in the messiness of life and running and fast packing. Bring it on.
Flights of a hummingbird 