If I am thinking at all when I run, this is a sign of a run gone wrong — or, at least, of a run that has not yet gone right. The run does not yet have me in its grip. I am not yet in the heartbeat of the run; the rhythm of the run has not done its hypnotic work. On every long run that has gone right, there comes a point where thinking stops and thoughts begin.
From ‘Running with the Pack:
Thoughts from the Road on Meaning & Mortality’
by Mark Rowlands
I suspect — no, in fact, I know — that I don’t run far enough, or long enough, or hard enough to have experienced the same kind of long run to which Mark Rowlands is referring here. And yet, even on my kind of run — the kind of run when you run simply for the joy of the moment and nothing else — there comes a point when the rhythm of the run [begins to do] its hypnotic work for me.
That’s why I came back to running, twenty years after I stopped. I am a worrier, a thinker — no, an over-thinker. But I’m not when I run. For those twenty years when I stopped running, I couldn’t forget the sweet spot I used to find at some point during a run, when, as Rowland puts it, thinking stops and thoughts begin. And I couldn’t find it, either — not outside of running.
Elsewhere in his book, Rowlands has this to say about why he runs:
People sometimes assess the quality of their runs in terms of times, distances and also in more sophisticated ways: the AIs — the number, duration and intensity of the aerobic intervals they have inserted into the miles they have run; the TUT — the total uphill time and so on. But, as far as I am concerned, times, distances, AIs, TUTs — these are all just contingencies, incidentals. Every run has its own heartbeat; the years have taught me this. The heartbeat of the run is the essence of the run, what the run really is.
I’m with Rowlands here. I don’t do tech — either in my day-to-day life or while I’m out running. I don’t own a smartphone, or a fitbit, or a garmin. I don’t even own a pedometer. The only things I take with me when I go for a run are my (non-digital) watch and (sometimes, but not always) my camera. That’s it. I put my watch on my wrist, and I hold my camera in one hand, and then I go out and run. I know roughly how far I run, but only roughly, which is exactly how I like it.
Every run has its own heartbeat, Rowlands says, and then, without skipping a beat: the years have taught me this. Those words — heartbeat, the years, taught — have nothing to do with AIs or TUTs (neither of which I’d heard of, before I read Rowlands’s book), and everything to do with living. With learning. With growing.
Which are some of the other reasons that I run.
I took the photos you see in today’s post on a run in the North Haven area one Sunday morning in late August. I ran beyond the breakwater and along the water’s edge by the yacht club and marina. As you can see, there was virtually no wind, though the air was brisk and cold.
It was a blue day — blue sky, blue water, blue paint on the boat ramps. Blue. Blue. Blue. My eyes felt wide open to the blue. I had promised myself that I would stop whenever I wanted to, whenever I saw something that struck my fancy, and that is what I did: I ran and stopped, ran and stopped, ran and stopped. I ran into the blue. I lost my rhythm and then found it again, several times, and it took me a while to figure out that this was my rhythm, on that morning, at least.
And I felt, as I often do when I’m out running, that I had found my heartbeat again: that I had heard it, and understood it, and honoured it.
That, too, is why I run.
4 thoughts on “Chasing clouds”
A perfect example of overthinking the mechanics of a thing and viscerally feeling and doing it. I suppose professional runners may need the numbers, but for the joy of it, you’ve clearly found your niche. Enjoyable post to read and love the beautiful photos of your home turf/surf.
Thanks, Eliza :). ‘Visceral’ is a good word, now I come to think of it!
I’m a beginner runner, though I’ve been beginning for quite a few years and I’m taking a long time to improve. But I’ve had glimpses of what you describe here and that’s what makes me want to keep going
I’m pretty much a beginner runner, too, Tracy, having only been running for the last 10 months or so … except for those two years or so when I ran during my early twenties. I actually think, in my late-forties, that I am a better, more rounded, stronger, happier runner than I ever would have been if I’d kept going with it in my twenties. And I’m glad you want to keep going with your running. I do too! 🙂