Running Back

November 11, 2024

Greetings from the next step,

Almost every ache has an accompanying joy.

I am of an age where I am not totally shocked when something goes wrong with my body.  I have had minor chinks in my health, none worth describing, not any worth garnering sympathy. I’m not like my brother who calls everyone to tell them about his recurring hang-nail mold syndrome, or whatever his last Go Fund Me was for.

But even though I am aware that maladies await, I tend to ignore that reality.  Proof of this is my naïve relationship with the medical world.  The few times I have had to see a new doctor, get an unusual test, or, God forbid, wait on hold to speak to the next available health insurance representative, it has shocked me into a more scrupulous tending to the care of my body.

One of the great ironies of our existence is how powerful and miraculous our bodies are, and at the same time, how fragile they can be.  I have spent more time admiring the former than fearing the latter, and that will be my intention going forward, despite my age and the waggling heads who know more about lifespans than I do.

All that said, with a couple of exceptions, every single malady in my adult life has been filtered through one main question: how will this affect my running? 

I can hear some of you rolling your eyes, it makes a distinct clinking sound against my screen.  Yes, I know the phrase ‘first world problem’ and also, I have already looked up ‘privileged’ and ‘spoiled’ in the dictionary.  

I won’t bore you with the details of this ache or pain.  But, for a while I have been in this awkward phase.  I have been shepherding my body past a setback, nothing worth a Go Fund Me, but it was distracting enough to interfere with my running.  Other people use thermometers or blood tests.  I look at the quality of my mileage.

So, for months I feel like I have been doing what I have always done, but without the instinctual, natural flow.  Instead, it feels like my body is something separate, like some animal I rescued at the shelter and don’t know how to care for it or how it’s supposed to behave.  I will confess I rarely have patience for its reticence.  I have been running but it feels more like an interruption than an intention.

Worse, for a time I have lost this other thing.  When it’s hard, I want to stop.  This is a natural response, a protective reaction your mind and body put together so you don’t do foolish things.  It doesn’t always serve a runner.  I found myself at the top of a hill, giving myself permission to pant like an old dog and lean over my knees as if I was doing a crossword puzzle on the sidewalk.  Occasionally this has attracted the attention of passing medical professionals.

We are lucky if we find something that ignites our passion.  Luckier if we find a way to nurture it all of our lives and rely on its presence.  Luckier still if we don’t abuse it, or worse, ignore it.

Saturday I set out to run in the cool morning and in the first mile I knew there was something different.  There was an easiness in my legs, even though they were fatigued, a more relaxed gait, even as I ran faster.  My breathing seemed less labored, something I didn’t even notice for a few miles.  Most importantly, I glided through seven miles without wanting to quit.  It felt like the magic was back. 

We can never take this for granted.  The day comes when the muse is absent, when the world collides, when there is a hitch in our gitalong.  And it sends a ripple into us.  These are reminders, unwelcome, unwanted, unappreciated, until we see the joy that is enveloped inside them.  They are small notices to honor the gift we’ve been given, to see it in its fullness. 

This matters to people who are limping or aching.  It also sometimes matters to those people who feel loss, who miss their best friend, people who suddenly are at risk when they’ve always felt safe.  It doesn’t help to say “All things pass.” but after, you will see they do.  There are no perfect words to salve the pain, and that’s not why I’m here writing about it.  The one benefit, the light inside the ache, is the message to cherish the passions when they come to you, unfettered and in their fullness.  And then find the patience and the will to pull them back when they slip away.

If this seems like a lot of analysis for something as silly as running around when you are not actually being chased by something dangerous, please understand this is a kind of celebration, and a reminder to me, and a few of you, to always treasure the gift.  Whatever it is.

When I finish writing this I will go for a long run.  You can’t imagine what a pleasure it is to write that simple sentence, where I tell some of my oldest friends that I am doing the two things that give me the greatest joy. 

Hope this finds you honoring the gift,

David

Copyright © 2024 David Smith