I've been trail running for over two hours, and now my right knee and left hip are starting to talk to me. I have no idea of the distance I've covered, I stopped using my Garmin a year ago, and the release of not knowing, of not keeping track of my pace and distance on every run has had a profound effect on my "run enjoyment meter"
Seven years ago I got off the couch and went for a run, and from that small effort a new chapter was started. At first I ran only enough to finish a ten kilometer run at the end of an Olympic distance triathlon. Then in November of 2011 everything changed, and I viewed running not as a means to an end - to become fit, but rather to enjoy the simplicity of moving through an environment unencumbered by equipment.
For years I was a cyclist, both road and mountain. I enjoyed the sport for both its physical side and its mental release. Every ride was a way to exhaust pent-up energy, or to pull myself up from a spot of no energy. Cycling was a way to weed through the layers and layers of useless thoughts, and to arrive at a place of calm, a place of clear insight. Riding a smooth road bike on uncrowded back roads to purge the demos was easy, almost mindless or automatic. But running has been another matter. Running is hard.
On a bike when you point down hill you can coast, saving your strength, and restoring much needed oxygen to your legs. You can also relax and eat, or drink, but not so running. Running down hill is jarring, it pounds your quads, ankles, and lower back. It requires your full attention to smooth it out and to keep yourself from a face plant. And though running up-hill is smooth, it is tiring and can turn your legs to jelly.
Running long distances requires me to constantly check the systems. How is my breathing, am I going too fast? How much fluids have I had, do I need food? My stomach feels upset, why? What do I need? All of this and more takes place while I'm picking my way down a trail that is just the right pitch to run fast down, but that is littered with baby heads - loose round rocks waiting for a missed step. As a youngster I would blast down this hill without hesitation, but at fifty-five, parts of the machine are worn and need more care. And I'm still an hour away from my car, so a crash could be a huge bummer.
Trail running has, for the last four years, been my go to form of exertion and expression. I identify myself as a runner, a person who pursues the craft of running. A person, who over time, has learned to read the signs of his body and the environment around him. Just like humans have done for thousands of years, my equipment is simple, water, small amount of food, and something to protect my feet, if these are insufficient, then like my ancestors, I accept the consequences, and learn.
After hundreds of hours and thousands of miles, running has become easier, I've relaxed, lost the effort. Now running has become contemplative, cathartic. Often I find myself stopped in the middle of a trail lost in thought, or seated on the ground engaged in a mental conversation with a friend long dead. Today while running it came to me that I've let this blog get away from me, there are too many unfinished stories - Alaska, two trips to Mexico City - all written to some degree, but none finished. "John your a lazy sod" I think to myself. But then I remember where I am, and laugh.
