truth always run straight

Time: 3 p.m.

Weather: 70 F (end of October!)

Route: Tunnels and Paths

Distance: 3 miles, a bit more

"Beauty is truth. Truth Beauty," said John Keats speaking of the yearning for art to give us life. Poems and running seem to have little in common until we try to unpack the truth that lies within the quest behind each. Poetry and art offer renditions of life which ask us to see a truth. These vary and can be complicated or cruel, interesting or banal. Yet, it is always truth that art seeks, even in its deceptions. Running seeks the truth of the physical form existing in time. Running seeks to tell us where we are in the world. We are our bodies, and we are our minds. With both, we seek to push through the world. That is the truth of living -- moment to moment, step to step. Running reinforces that truth by making it manifest. It brings hyper-awareness to the state of being on the planet. It is and Ode to Space and Time.

I can't go on. I'll go on.

Some days I want to stop.

I slow down, almost to a walk. I do this more than once. Then, I speed up. I just feel slow and unmotivated. I look for distractions in my surroundings. I see a bird or leaf fall. I force myself to think of song lyrics. I wait to be taken away in thought so the steps and miles will go by. 

It's my least liked way to run. But it happens, and each time it does, like today, I embrace it. I applaud myself when I speed up and don't stop. I feel satisfaction when I get lost in good thoughts and realize another half mile is behind me. I am within the moment, even though I am not enjoying it.

Samuel Becket created a succinct existential statement with "I can't go on. I'll go on." Life is absurd and, when you think it about it, that includes someone just running around the neighborhood for fun. But it serves a purpose for me, one of calm and peace. I feel human when I run, something the modern world can't do on its own, with its buttons and wires and gadgets. I am in the world, feeling it on my skin and hearing it in my ears. I am breathing in life with each breath. 

I can't go on. I must go on. That was my day.

Next Day, Too

Time: 3:30

Weather: 64 F and blue skies

Route: Same Old -- and Greenway along Western

Distance: 3 miles and then 2 miles

Two things about both things: there were two runs, one yesterday and one today. Two different things: path and distance; two same things: time and weather.

Often, I attempt to group things, to put things in piles to order them and make sense of them. We have a need as humans to make sense of the world, and making sense often means placing a system over events and things. I do this often.

But running reminds me that no two things are alike. Each item, each person in your day is unique. I even believe that each of us is new in each moment. Maybe slightly, maybe overshadowed by who we were yesterday, but something is always new. I've run on the same path for many years. Part of doing so is that it is old news, comfortable. But new things are always there, and when I think about my run I often think of the things that surprised me. A man on bench or a deer crossing in front of me or the storm clouds on the horizon. This newness makes the run interesting, and something to cherish.

So, on my two runs in this entry, I'll say that despite their similarities, there was nothing the same about them. I was different and the days were different, but mostly they were different because time and space is always changing. I changed, too.

Fables

Time: 9:30

Weather: Overcast 65 F

Route: Along the paths between prison and art museum

Distance: 4.5 miles

What are we supposed to do when we lie? 

A Jeff Tweedy song lyric reveals that "all my lies are always wishes." I think the kind of lie in the lyric is a hope for ourselves, one we blurt out when shoulders are chipped and our esteem feels vulnerable. We want to be stronger or faster or smarter or have a better job or a nicer car. We want to lay claim to the things we wish were true. It's part of the culture to want what we see on TV shows or in social media. It's that life over there we want, not this one.

After running, there are times when I've answered the "how far?" question with a bit of added on distance. I don't know why. I certainly answer correctly most of the time. What is happening to me when I don't? I think I am telling a fable about who I wish to be. I already run a lot. So much more than most people. But the people I read about, the ones in Running World, they run more than I do. And sometimes, when I'm asked the question, I go into Fable Mode and add some distance. 

This blog tells the truth about how far I run. But mostly it tells the truth about who I am. All autobiographical writing is destined to be a pseudo version of the self. By even writing about myself I am changing who I am. But, that change is truthful -- at least in the moment. So the miles are the miles, but the person is changed by writing about the miles. The person, me, now is the person who told a truth about embellishing, and now can use that truth to either "wink" and embellish some more, or just answer the question minus the wishes. So, yeah, I ran 4.5 miles today. (Or was it 5 miles -- wink.)

Up Hill

Time: 3 p.m.

Weather: 75 F 

Route: Over the gravel road at Umstead State Park, from ranger quarters to Reedy Creek Road and back

Distance: 3.5 miles 

Sometimes I find I am at a loss when going uphill. Maybe I look and see that I must run a mile to the summit, each step taxing my ability to push forward. Or perhaps the climb is steep, and I feel the need to load in oxygen, taking gulps at a time. There's a slight panic, and I find myself out of rhythm. I forget to stay calm. I force myself to fail.

Through trial and error, I have come to keeping myself calm when facing such odds -- when the task at hand is arduous and the resources to accomplish the task are scarce. Today on the trail, as I surveyed my options, instead of feeling overwhelmed, I just took each breath in its course and settled into an even pace. My actions changed the course in my mind. And the calm brought me the space I needed to enjoy each step, to appreciate the climb. 

Running isn't life. Sometimes the uphill battle includes overwhelming odds not in your favor and no resources to accomplish the task. Yet, there are times -- more than we think, more than I knew -- when a calm approach, with a steady determination, allows the task at hand to be transformed, and then completed. A strong will and calm mind brings the finish line closer. 

As I took my last steps toward the gravel road's barrier, stopped and began walking to my car, I allowed myself to feel the accomplishment of beating the hill. Then I took a deep breath, my experience packed within me, and went on to the next moment of my day.

Flying

Time: 5:15 p.m.

Weather: 68 F

Route: The Three Segments of Western Greenway

Distance: 2.5 miles

I picture a cloud on a distant Earth-twin planet. Water and land and air. Trees and waterfalls and oceans. But it is without life -- no birds or animals, no fish or insects. It's my mind's simulacrum, made for my pleasure. And in it, I race across its surface, muscles pulling and arms pumping in perfect harmony. I am the only live thing, and I stride, feeling all existence in my being, as my essence. 

Today, for two short miles. I felt as if I ran on that planet. Each stride perfect. Head and body within each moment; alive and gone, alive and gone, alive and gone. That space opened here, for me, by letting go, and allowing the physical and mental to be one thing. 

When the feeling subsided, and I slowed to a regular pace and then stopped and walked, a euphoria kept pace with me -- at least for a few minutes. And then it was over. No sadness came. No yearning to go back. Only a happy memory now nestling in my mind. 

I'll access it from time to time. I'll find it in my dreams. Or in a moment with friends. It will be there when I walk. But mostly it will stay away, fueling my subconscious, and giving me peace each day.

Simple Wonder

By Greg Rideout

Time: 10 a.m

Weather: Overcast but warm, 65 F

Route: Over the creek and through the tunnels

Distance: Over 3 miles

As I ran, the gray morning gave a surreal feel to the space around me. Wet grass and puddled paths made me aware of my steps, and I concentrated more than normal on where my feet hit the ground. Looking down, I watched my sneakers, sometimes changing direction at the last minute to avoid a hazard.  It kept me occupied. 

I am prone to obsessing, at least for short periods of time. Such intensity allows for interesting observations. With my run today, I noticed the state of my shoes (perhaps a new pair are in order) and how individual drops of rain or dew held fast to small blades of grass. Here: I saw glass imbedded in dirt. There: a fallen branch split into pieces formed an abstract canvas on the ground. 

I like when I find a good by-product of a trait that can seem to some to be negative. People who obsess on things do run into negative consequences. But that only happens when you are not aware of that obsession. There are times that I spend a half-hour looking for a slip of paper contains an address I need instead of looking it up in Google. I think I like turning things over, rifling through papers and searching through books or boxes. Even though I need something specific, at a deeper level, I believe I might turn up something new or an item I have not seen in a while. (I once found the newspaper I saved from the day the Challenger space shuttle exploded while looking for tax documents.)

So today while focused on keeping my feet from planting in mud, I got to see new things: caterpillars crawling on the asphalt and a color of mud -- green/red -- that I don't think I've seen before. There's wonder wherever you go -- even if you're not looking for it.