On any given day, at any given hour or minute, running means different things to the runner.
November 4, 2010
Ran the straights today, walked the curves. My body is sore from the cross-training regimen of chopping wood and hauling water. The water part is just for the rhythm of the sentence. Yesterday, I walked and ran a little in the afternoon as promised. Took my camera and saw my neighborhood getting ready for fall. The late sun lit it up like gold hiding in the pasture not yet gone to winter grey.
This morning, in addition to an ambivalence about love and life and its demands, my stomach said enough of the muesli, let’s get back to eggs. Despite all the physical grumpiness, distance was run, time was put in under a star-filled sky whose constellations played hide and seek with a rolling fog that is still hard upon the valley. M was not there to describe the celestial journey but B and R took note.
My favorite local Russian coaches were there again, wondering at the fog and warm weather after the days of rain. Miami was not like this, she said. No, it was hotter and more humid, he said. Then they laughed and started yelling out splits to their protégés.
I was reminded yet again that running with purpose is not necessarily the same as training for an event. Sometimes, the reward is in the distance, or the surroundings. Sometimes, it is in the time over distance. And sometimes it is in the companionship of other seekers out there before daylight. For me, it is a commitment to continuity and self-expression, requiring nothing more than a pair of shoes and an opportunity to take the first step.
Photo Credit
Photo of moss and gold leaves in the fog © Michael Lebowitz. All Rights Reserved.
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- Tarmac Meditations: Haiku # 42
I really like this. You’ve captured it all very well 🙂