Semi of Reality

Cruising along, blissfully disconnected from the world, with only the occasional lucid thought bubbling to the surface of a vast and churning ocean of subliminal thought, the semi came as something of a shock to the system.

In and of itself, the semi wasn't particularly noteworthy.

In and of itself, the run wasn't particularly noteworthy.

In and of itself, the intersection wasn't particularly noteworthy.

The confluence was.

...or at least seemed to be...

Objectively, the semi was simply going through the daily grind of doing the job for which it was intended, and in similar fashion, the run was simply another part of the daily grind of training.

But subjectively, the semi was as out of place in my little world of running as I assume I was in its little world of work.

Barreling down a hill, turning a corner, and relishing in the ease and flow of the run, the semi waiting at the intersection simply served to snap me back into reality.  The minor trajectory adjustment that resulted in a slight break in stride threw me out of rhythm for the remainder of the run.

It seems almost petty to allow such a passive aspect of the route have such a profound effect, but in another sense, perhaps this particular aspect of running is quite profound and, too often, only has passive effects.

So many aspects of our daily runs escape us due to our being lost in thought, lost out of thought, or simply lost.  Sometimes the semi of reality can bring us crashing back into the real world and thereby allow us to experience the world through which we run in a more active way.

Things Unseen

Unless I'm mistaken, it's been said that something like 90% of the information your brain perceives is visual.  It would logically follow, then, that an environment in which vision was reduced would yield significantly less perceived information.

I suppose it should come as no surprise that, yet again, a pre-dawn run seemed to fly in the face of logic.

Stepping out into the darkness around 4:30, I'd be lying if I said that I was happy to be out of bed, but, also true to form, within a very few minutes, the loathsome facade had fallen away, and I was struck by the wonder all around me.

...that I couldn't see...

Sure, the stars were gorgeous as usual, and yes, the faint overcast of city lights radiated beautifully upward in the distance, but the things unseen were the true marvel of the morning.

With the sun still far from threatening its arrival, and with the groggy blur slowly shaking out of still-sleepy eyes, the other senses bolted to life.

Smelling the damp trees and grass all around, hearing the chirping insects and occasional hissing sprinkler, feeling the cool, humid air rushing past while road slowly passed underfoot; it seemed like even the sensations inherent with perennially tight ankles and achy arches were enhanced and, somehow, more pleasant.

Could it be that through the deprivation of a primary sense, we can actually gather more sensation via the empowerment of the others?  Is it possible that the dark, calm solitude of an early morning run can teach us more about the world around us than the cacophony of perception that comes with the daylight?

This morning's run seemed to indicate so, but this afternoon's might challenge the notion...

Denton on Training

If you've never read John Parker's Once A Runner or it's late coming sequel Again To Carthage, I would highly recommend doing so for a variety of reasons, assuming you have at least a token interest in either running or personal struggle, as both are included in the books, and both seem to be analogs to the other therein.

 

At some point in Again To Carthage, the protagonist's mentor Bruce Denton offers a bit of sage wisdom gleaned over the years and through the miles:  running is fun, but training is decidedly less enjoyable.

I would disagree.

Granted, I've never trained, run, competed, or in any other way existed at the elite level of Denton or his protege Cassidy, the stories' main protagonist, but I have run, I have trained, and I have competed.  Hard.

 

I agree that running is fun.  I enjoy doing so.  My disagreement comes with the assertion that training is less enjoyable.

Training is hard.

Training can suck.

 

Training can hurt.

Training can beat you up and leave you doubled over, panting, wondering why you chose to embark upon such a journey, with a ludicrous goal in a silly activity for an absurd distance.

...but that's what makes it so marvelous...

It truly is a marvel what you can do, both in terms of what you can achieve and how you can shape and mold you physical, mental, and emotional self through this outrageous act of training.

 

Others don't and won't understand it and will, more often than not, try to convince you to relent, but you can't.  We can't.  And what's more, we can't explain why.

Yesterday's run, for whatever reason, was hard.  It sucked.  It hurt.  It beat me up and left me doubled over, panting, wondering why I chose to embark upon such a journey, with a ludicrous goal in a silly activity for an absurd distance.

...and it was marvelous.

Running is fun. Training is fun, too, but it can truly suck.

Here's hoping you're training for something...

Distractions to Focus

Sometimes we get distracted.

We usually pretend that it's unexpected, unwanted, and entirely unnecessary.

I'm beginning to disagree.

After all, isn't this inclination to run nothing more than a distraction from the rest of "real life?"  By my understanding, the running habit is the definition of a distraction, as it draws attention away from other, probably more important aspects of our day.

But that's where the paradox presents itself.  It has been my experience that the more we run, the more we can focus on what's important; the very act of distracting ourselves allows for a level of discernment.

This effect is even layered within our runs.  For example, when some rather large flying insect decided that dive-bombing my arm was a good idea, it was something of an annoying distraction momentarily, but this distraction was quite quickly diverted into a focus on getting back into the rhythm of the run, which, in turn, enhanced the focus on the non-running side of life.

We've all experienced this on some level.  A brief distraction simply results in our redoubling of efforts to key in on what's really important.  We use our distractions to focus.