Thursday, August 20, 2015

Running Up Dill in the Rain

​ The rain had intensified to "frog-choker" status, but this was merely a passing mental note; the rain could be enjoyed more appropriately during a later stage of the run.

The business at hand was making it up Dill.

There was nothing out of the ordinary, save the pleasant sensation of rain impacting, soaking, and dripping off.  I guess most folks don't understand, maybe even can't understand how enjoyable a run in the pouring rain is.  Truth be told, I don't really understand it; I simply know it, but pondering who understands and even enjoys the oddities of running would be more effectively pursued once back on level ground.

The business at hand was making it up Dill.

A quick glance up, and the assessment made, neither good nor bad, that about another 150 yards of the hill remained, and a car heading downhill, headlights barely visible through the torrent, meant that I'd need to veer over to one side or the other.  The driver had a strange expression looking at the drenched pedestrian, but soon enough she was down, turned onto Owens, and but a distant memory, eclipsed by an abnormal fascination with the way the water was dripping off the bill of my hat almost at two exclusive points with approximately equal drip rates, but the fluid mechanics properties of apparel could of course be more closely examined later.

The business at hand was making it up Dill.

A tight achilles, a rough heart-rate guesstimate, and an overall internal status check relative to some ambiguous point 5 minutes prior (or was that 45 minutes prior...?) were just a few of a thousand other fleeting thoughts and moments on the way up Dill Street.  In a paradoxically long blink of an eye, though, I turned left on Toll Gate, and the business of making it up Dill was done.

I couldn't help but reflect upon how counter-intuitively enjoyable climbing up the hill had been, especially in the context of training, and I briefly allowed my mind to go down the rabbit hole of extrapolating an enjoyment of running up Dill Street to the rest of life...

...but ever so quickly, the implications of the mere 1000 feet of Dill Street were, at least for the remaining handful of miles, put on the backburner...

The business at hand was making it down Toll Gate...

Tuesday, August 4, 2015

It's a Funny Thing, Running...

Running is a funny thing.
What other sport wears you out to re-energize you?
What other activity convinces otherwise professional, respectable, or at least somewhat civilized people to don extravagantly loud, ludicrously expensive, and sometimes scandalously revealing gear to prance around town?
What other distraction can consume your entire being and yet leave you speechless when asked about your thoughts while participating?
We pour our all into this sport, beat ourselves up, break ourselves down, and rebuild ourselves time and time again, but we almost paradoxically struggle with an answer to the inevitable question of why we are so engrossed.
That's what makes it great.
There is an allure to a departure from the confines of normalcy, a mystique to an inability to explain, a beauty in futility...
Be it effort, luck, or providence, we have all found our way into this funny thing, and at times we (or at least I) need to be reminded of how truly resplendent it is.