Running on water

Recently, there was some discussion in the online RYBQ community about the difficulty sometimes of getting oneself out the door to run. That got me thinking once again about the deep, philosophical question of why I run. Which is the same as that other deep, philosophical question of who am I. Je cours donc je suis, right? What’s that? That’s not quite what Descartes said? Ah, same difference! J I’ve said this before: I’ve never gone out running and come back regretting it, even on those days when, lying in bed after the alarm has gone off and listening to the wind whipping snow against the window panes and the weather guy on the radio talking about something in the single digits, putting on running shoes and heading out the door would seem not to be the most rational choice. And yet, each time, with shoes laced, out the door I go. Why do I do this? Why does any runner do this? There are probably at least as many answers as there are runners.

For me, one of the answers must be what subsequently happens on a run. The first mile is usually rough and creaky, even with the proper warm-up, as the body tries to wake up. Towards the end of the second mile, however, as the body gradually gets warmed up and moving parts get lubricated, a rhythm begins to take hold. Several miles later, somewhere in the middle of the run (depending on its length), the legs and rest of the body all sync into this rhythm, and the result is as beautiful to feel as chamber music is to hear. This rhythm happens often enough to be a counterpoint to those pre-run self-arguments for going back to sleep. Then, once in a long while, something remarkable happens, when the running becomes seemingly effortless, with the entire body humming like an engine in overdrive, even when going up hills. Smooth and light--like running on water.

Last Sunday’s long run (22 miles) came close to that. It was a sharp contrast to a weekend earlier, when my long run was a 5K race followed by a 17-mile run home (not recommended!). Last Sunday morning, there was no 5K, the temperature was cooler, and the entire body just hummed along. (Average mile splits were about a minute slower than my still-to-be-achieved Boston qualifying marathon pace (MP), with the last three splits negative, ending at MP-9 sec.) It was heavenly.