today's mileage: 3.5
on the iPod: "riding horses" -- gustavo santaolalla
on the iPod: "bend and break" -- keane
After a somewhat emotionally draining afternoon, Friday night found my thoughts contemplative and pensive as I laid in bed, unable to sleep. The house was cool and dark. And, as always, it seemed to be strangely quiet. I've grown comfortable living alone over the years, with Abe Lincoln to keep me company, and he's grown to enjoy the solace and quiet as well. I've always thought that he takes cues from me in terms of mood and affect. He seems to mirror my feelings most of the time. I love him so much, he's the best dog ever. My last thoughts that evening, as I finally drifted into stage one of sleep, was that of the distance run waiting for me the next morning. Amongst the dark and quiet, it made me anxious and ready to wake.
While I thoroughly enjoyed running two 5K's the weekend before, those events left me pining for a distance run, with it's solitary tone and inward challenge. I was ready to lace up and hit the trails with nothing more than my iPod and energy to burn. Solo distance runs are great that way: they afford me the opportunity to not only push my legs toward exhaustion, but more importantly, collect my thoughts and organize the world around me. Life moves pretty fast sometimes and I need to step back to make sense of it all.
After coffee and a bagel and the newspaper I headed out on the trail system with no thought-out plan, only knowing that I wanted to log some real mileage. I needed it. Having experienced some tweeks in my left knee during the week, I was a bit concerned about how my legs would react, but I almost instantly found a rhythm, which made me lose any concern about discomfort. I could simply feel that it was going to be okay. And it was.
While passing through the U of A Agri fields, with which i've had a love/hate relationship over the years, a tune by the remarkable Gustavo Santaolalla shuffled across my iPod. Riding Horses. For a very brief moment, as the opening bars registered in my temporal lobes, I closed my eyes and ran blind, allowing the haunting melody to guide my feet and fill my soul. In that moment, and for the next few minutes as the rest of the tune played, I let go of every single worry and distraction that I had. I surrendered my shame, self-doubt and fear to something greater than myself and simply ran. The moment was celestial.
The tune was written as part of the score for an extraordinary Ang Lee film about one man's journey through life and the power of love. I'll never forget the first time I saw it, nor the subsequent viewings that still affect me profoundly on the deepest of levels. Inevitably, I end up crying. Some argue that it's about a forbidden relationship, or about what can't be, but that's not how i've come to understand the story. For me, it's a testament to acceptance of self, how awful internal conflict can be, and the idea that true love doesn't have limits attached. None. And the score, masterfully written by Santaolalla, with it's rich and textured acoustic guitar melody, makes the film so much stronger. The entire project is timeless.
Before I knew it I'd been running for an hour or so and made the turn to head back to my truck, pleased to be doing what seems to make me so incredibly happy in life. My legs began to show the smallest feelings of fatigue, which only put a smile on my face and made me push them harder. I finished the last half mile with a deliberate tempo, giving all that I had to stretch my limits. The rest of the day, as both of my legs burned and twitched from the miles, was outstanding. I love that feeling, the "burn". It's possibly my favorite part of distance runs. And it makes me sleep like a baby.
Today was only too nice outside to not get in a few miles. I couldn't help myself when I left church and saw a crisp blue sky dotted with billowing white clouds. The breeze was alert and cool. I immediately changed into running shorts and, this time, ran around Lake Fayetteville. Knowing that i'd be going a short distance, and having other things on my Sunday afternoon plate (including penning these thoughts), I decided to get some good tempo work in and went fast from the outset. It was gonna be a crapshoot about how my legs would feel after 11 miles the day before, but they responded like champs. And I pushed. Hard. I ran like hell. As much as I crave distance runs, there's something to be said for going out and knocking back some really fast laps around a trail system like Lake Fayetteville. It leaves me feeling an exhaustion that is unique to immediate, aggressive running. Speed work is great that way, and sometimes it's exactly what I need.
Both runs this weekend couldn't have been further apart from each other in terms of pace, feeling, and overall experience. I look back and think of them as completely separate events. But the common denominator in both of them were the appreciations they created within me, particularly toward all the people that are in my life. During both runs, I thought quite a bit about how incredibly lucky I am to have made the human connections that I have. Every single person that I know has impacted my life: in ways that I understand, and sometimes in ways that leave me without understanding. And the interactions and people that fall in the latter category are okay, because ultimately it's human connection that drives us toward good.
Sometimes when i'm at home, after a day of teaching or a good run, and the quiet seems to be everywhere, I feel as if there's something missing in my life. I know what it is. I try to not let those feeling upset me, but i'd be dishonest if I didn't admit that it often happens. There's utility, however, in letting emotion play out on the stage of a person's life. For me, when I feel lost and scared and lonely, I think of the really awesome and loving relationships that I do have, and I remind myself that I'm a lucky guy for being surrounded by friends and family, and that our connections are based in love and compassion. It almost always makes me feel better. A good, solid run never hurts, either, so I try to keep my running shoes nearby.
I hope that my connections with the people in my life have been borne from unconditional positive regard for their wellbeing. I care so much about my friends and family. I don't always get it right, but I try to make my interactions based in a clear, empathic understanding of human emotion and needs. My friends, family, and colleagues go out of their way to lift me up, and for them i'm grateful.
These are the human connections that I want to make. That we all want to make.
Go make one.
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