I went for a run this evening (shocking, I know). It was an eight-mile jaunt down to the waterfront and back. I didn’t take a watch or a phone. I don’t know if I was fast or slow. I couldn’t even begin to tell you what my average split might have been. The only way I even know how far I went is because I’ve run the route before.
This statistical deprivation was no accident either. Based on the hours leading up to the run, I didn’t expect to do well, but still wanted to enjoy it. If I knew my mile split, I would risk having my joy usurped by the numbers. And the real kicker is that the numbers don’t matter. I’m not a professional athlete. I don’t live or die by how fast or far I go.
Sure, it’s fun to see progress. Achieving a personal best is hard to beat. And it can be helpful to see trends in the statistics. If I do consistently well one week and poorly the next, it can signify something is off, which allows me to analyze any changes that may have occurred and adjust accordingly.
But for me, running isn’t about anything other than joy. That’s become especially true over the past year and a little more. I don’t run for any other reason than because I love it. I don’t care about fitness. I don’t care about staying in shape. I don’t care about how much food I get to eat. I don’t care about running faster or further than anybody else. Results of a quantifiable nature are unimportant to me.
****
While running this evening, I paused to snag a sip of water at a drinking fountain. When I started back up again, my right arch developed an odd tightness. It didn’t hurt, but I could instantly tell that, if left unchecked, it would hurt a lot soon.
I shortened my stride, straightened my posture, and paid close attention to my steps. Diagnostics are my favorite part of running. I almost love it when an issue crops up (almost). Whenever that happens, I get to actively attempt to cheat my own biomechanical shortcomings.
If I’m successful, my running gets stronger and more enjoyable. If I’m not, I have to slow down and recover for a few days (or longer as the case may be). I’m never defeated. My own physiology will outsmart me once in a while, but I bounce back. And not because of anything prodigious in my nature. I bounce back because I have to. Because I love it so much.
On this particular run, I emerged victorious and live to run another day.
****
All of this has me thinking: what if I could duplicate my headspace as a runner and carry it over into everyday life? I’m so focused on what I have or haven’t done that I miss a lot of opportunities for growth. I’m so obsessed with my lack of quantifiable success that I find it hard to enjoy life for its own sake.
What if I could give up the desire for a positive legacy and simply do what I enjoy for the love of it? What if I didn’t need to see results for my efforts? What if I could enjoy things on their own merit?
And when problems develop, what if I smiled at the challenge and said, “We’ll see who comes out on top”? What if I rose to the occasion and didn’t let failure defeat me? What if I chose risk and joy over comfort and depression?
Because that’s the thing. When I run, I smile in the face of adversity. I scoff at a challenge issued by my own insufficiency. I’m smarter than my weakness. I’m more resilient than my failures. I’m stronger than my doubts.
The same cannot be said of my real life. Not yet. Maybe I’ll figure it out. Maybe I’ll get there. And if I do, maybe it will be on my own two feet.