On Running To and From Nothing

It’s hard for me to write about running because running has meant so many different things to me over the course of my life. It has been a social “in”, a competition, a form of camaraderie, an obsession, an escape, a pass time, a slave driver, an identity… Our relationship is nothing if not complicated.

I don’t run so much these days; 40 minute jogs through the park when the sun is out and the urge hits. But I know that I will train again someday. It’s a part of my life that oscillates. Sometimes I feel like I’ve spent so much time pounding the pavement that I‘d be happy never to do it again. But then eventually I do it and I remember why I’ll likely never really stop. If you have ever experienced a runner’s high, you understand the addiction. The feeling that your body is capable of anything. You never ever want to stop because you want the feeling to last forever. It feels like confidence mixed with giddiness, and you don’t think that anything could ever bring you down. Like any high, it doesn’t last forever, but in those moments you believe it just might.

For me, part of the running high is the music. Some people say that if you have to run with music, it’s because you’re scared to be alone with your own thoughts. I think that’s bullshit. With your headphones in, it’s almost like you have a secret. Everyone passing by can see you, see you smiling and waving at friendly strangers, or panting in concentration as you approach the crest of a hill, but no one knows that you aren’t really alone. Nothing makes me feel quite as badass as running through a public space with a bounce to my step and vulgar rap blasting in my ears. Or as tranquil as jogging down a trail in rhythm with some oldie that gives me all the feels. Sometimes after a particularly long run I almost feel as though I owe a thank you to Biggie or the old Kanye or Elton circa 1970, just for sticking by my side the whole time.

Part of the magic of running, which many people may not know, is that while you are on a run, the world is on pause. Even on stressful or busy days, everything waits until your feet stop moving and then picks up right where it left off once you get home, sweat drying to your shirt.

Even your state of mind is stagnant while your body is in motion. That’s not to say that your thoughts or feelings go away, just the opposite. Whatever emotion, no matter how overwhelming, that is in you at the start of the run stays within you, but it shifts and becomes somehow more manageable. This is what I mean when I say it can be an escape. At some of my lowest points, when I have experienced grief or anxiety that my young, fragile self simply had no idea how to cope with, I’ve taken to the streets even with tears leaking out of my eyes. Eventually the running instincts- the rhythmic breaths and steady concentration on the ground before you- start to kick in and there isn’t room for too much else. Certainly no room for tears.

So, certainly,running has been a highlight of my life, but, as I mentioned, the relationship is complicated. I was an atrocious athlete when the whole thing started. I could hardly make it a mile without stopping, shuffled my feet, hunched my shoulders and HATED to run. It could have ended there. But my dad was the track coach, my friends all ran cross-country, and I was a freshman in high school lacking any sort of identity or sense of belonging. So I kept doing it, and slowly I got a little better. It would be years before I actually started winning races, but it was that journey that made me the runner that I am and I am not ashamed of where I started. I don’t necessarily openly bring up the fact that I was second to last in every cross-country race my freshman year, but I am not ashamed, per say. By senior year, I had medalled in the county’s Cross-Country Championship. Freshman year of college I completed my first half marathon, and did six more in the following years.

But unfortunately, though perhaps unsurprisingly, it was as I got good that my relationship with running also started to take on a complicated, often toxic quality. There were years of my life when running owned me. I was addicted. Leisurely walks and scenic hikes were luxuries reserved for other people. For me, it could only ever be about pushing myself, about pain. It was always one more step, one more. At the end of a twelve mile run I would find myself entirely depleted, hardly able to even function, but satisfied in a way that nothing else could make me feel. They say everything in moderation, but an addict cannot know moderation. I ran so much that I came to hate it, but kept doing it day after day anyway. It wasn’t until I eventually stopped that I was able to love it again. Not until I realized that I would be okay if I left that part of me behind, struggled through the discomfort and guilt of not lacing up my shoes, and embraced new pastimes, was I able to appreciate how much I missed taking to the streets. How much I really do love the sensation of taking in the world while relying only on my own body and nothing else.

When you run, it’s one of the only times you don’t need a purpose. You don’t need to reach a destination, meet a deadline, please another person, or produce anything at all. You don’t have to think, or you can, but the world is paused. You are allowed to just keep moving, and that’s enough. You can get to really know a place when you run it. Your body can go places that your car cannot. Down the cobblestone alleys of Rome, through Copenhagen’s rose gardens, on the warm, white sand of Ipanema Beach, up and down winding Redwood forest grove trails, across the expansive Golden Gate Park.

Running is an adventure if you want to make it one, and sometimes even if you don’t. I once tripped on a steep unpaved hill near the edge of Vatican City. My knees were dripping blood and people were staring, but I was miles from my BnB and am not exactly fluent in Italian. Across the street a group of men sat around a little plastic table in what appeared to be an auto mechanic garage. As I approached they noticed my bleeding legs. They waved me over and pulled a chair out, grinning. The men were dressed in dirty work clothes, clearly on a lunch break.

“Ah, signora! Sono un dottore!” one joked. Before I knew it, they were handing me beautiful pieces of fresh fruit, Italian grapes right off the vine, and then one emerged from a storage closet with a spray bottle of Windex. I ate the fruit as he sprayed my knees and tended to my wounds with paper towels, and soon enough I was back on the street, enjoying my run. A week later I found myself back in California in the Urgent Care Center, my knee the size and color of a tomato. But to this day, that fruit was some of the best I have ever had.

In the outskirts of Austin, I once came within feet of a huge flock of vultures descending on a recently killed deer. I saw the commotion off the side of the road and slowed to a walk as I realized what was happening. The massive birds didn’t even notice me approaching, or perhaps just didn’t care, and I hovered nearby as they tore pieces of flesh off the creature. I swear, the picture I captured on my phone was National Geographic worthy.

Running has brought me closer to people. They say it’s an individual sport, but really, when you’re on a team you are running for others as much as you are for yourself. And often, you’re running against others as much as you are for yourself. But there’s a bond shared by the people that do this crazy thing for crazy reasons. Only another runner can know the feeling of finishing a race and realizing that at some point in the last half hour, you peed yourself. To this day I love the feeling of camaraderie when passing another jogger on the street and sharing a high five or a head nod.

But mostly these days I’m grateful because it’s something that is totally mine. I don’t have to do it anyone else’s way. I don’t have to catch up to the guy in front of me on the sidewalk or tell anyone about the secret daydreams I get lost in. I can stop and talk to strangers, and if they bore me, I can just keep right on running. That is a very freeing feeling. I don’t have to share it with anyone else. Besides for this little piece that I share here with you.