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.

That moment in Toronto

By Greg Rideout 

Time: 9 a.m.

Weather: So nice, so very nice

Route: Old standby down greenway, with a yell in the tunnel.

Distance: 3 miles and change, as they say.

Wow. Sometimes I feel great. I went out fast, across Saunders and on to the greenway. Legs, arms moving like a track star. (It only matters to me that it felt that way.) Some people might have this all the time. I am happy for them. I get it sometimes, now that my body is finishing its sixth decade on the planet. It’s a gift from the universe, one I am grateful for when it happens.

My mind felt at peace, and it allowed me to settle into pleasant memories. I’ve been thinking a lot about contentment lately, and an encounter with a Buddhist monk came to mind. I was walking around the Toronto airport waiting on a connecting flight. From a concourse, I viewed the Richard Serra sculpture there, and I was lost in reverie about its infinite solidity. When I returned to my surroundings, a man stood near me, wearing full brown/orange robes. 

 

It’s amazing to me that I can remember the calm and peace of the man now, as I follow the path over the creek and into the tunnel. I didn’t have some great conversation with him. Just small talk, but it felt like a benediction to me. I’ve carried it with me as I’ve come down this part of my journey. It’s just a feeling, one that I’m privileged to have as I trod the final decades.

I didn’t finish my run as strong as I started, but I did yell out in the last tunnel. “Love. Love. Love. All you need is love.”

Beautiful Futility

By Greg Rideout

Time: 11:30 a.m.

Weather: 68 F, maybe, warm in the sun

Route: West South Street over to Lenoir Street to Chavis Park and return

Distance: Close to 3 miles, with a 400 meter sprint on the Chavis track

Some days I run in a tired fog, my mind and body geared in slow motion. There's a sludge around me, and each movement -- arms, legs, feet, hands, neck, torso -- all of me pushes as if the whole world is heavy. Today, like most days, I ignore it, and it eventually goes away, my will winning the battle against my fate.

I believe this kind of run -- this weighted journey -- reminds me of the beautiful futility available to each of us. It is the inevitable realization that our lives are lost in death. And death comes to us all. That our exertions -- our runs, our work days, our daily chores -- never rise above futile. Yet we keep going because it is physically impossible for the living to know death. We keep swimming despite the fact that we know the ending. I call this "beautiful futility."

My run is a beautiful futility. Along the path today, I felt my legs push up the hill. I passed late blooming flowers in the October warmth. I passed a man smiling in his car, talking on the phone, perhaps to his lover.  I watched a young woman and man laugh, doing calisthenics on green grass under the mid-day sun. And, I ran home, anticipating a cool glass of water. Nothing about my run changed my fate. It was futile. But it allowed me to see that futility, to chase its beauty and feel its mighty power. My futility -- your futility, is a life-changing concept. I get it running down the street. How do you get yours?

Fair Run

By Greg Rideout

Time: 10 a.m. 

Weather: 55 F. 

Route: Up Western Blvd. in Raleigh and greenway through N.C. State University and up Hillsborough to I-440 

Distance: More than 3 miles, less than 4 

I thought a lot about truth today as I ran through North Carolina State University and past Meredith College. It's an elusive concept that gets shaded by the world. We allow ourselves to be told lies all the time. That car will make you handsome or that perfume will make you attractive. We have let politicians and sales people shade the truth for so long that it becomes astonishing when they don't fudge or outright lie.

A good education allows us to know certain truths and detect the faults in logic when someone attempts to deceive us. I began wondering about the students learning in the buildings I passed. Do they seek truth? Is their privilege of extra knowledge allowing them to pick through distortions, fallacies and prevarications?

As I passed classroom buildings and trudged up hills, I allowed my mind to feel the effort, to let go of the tension inside that desired an easy answer.  I allowed thought of wisdom and of how we come to knowledge actively and ignorance passively. I do not believe in willful ignorance. People may learn the wrong things, but they don't stop knowing things. What does happen, though, is that a poor education (the fault of us, of our community) combined with cultural norms keep people from truth.

So, as I made my way along a very busy road, on the side of a road not meant for walking or running, I arrived at the ring of highway that surrounds Raleigh. I looked through the underpass to the State Fair, its Ferris Wheels and tall flags heralding the fun to be had. I smiled. I let go. Truth will be there after I take a walk through the fair. Truth is always there. It never leaves. It's waiting for us to see it.

Grass and Long Ago and Prisons

by Greg Rideout

Time: 9:30 a.m.

Weather: Perfect

Route: In Raleigh, up Hunt Drive across from the prison and around the Big Field at Dix, then finishing on the Greenway

Distance: Exactly 3 miles 

Movement nourishes the body. 

Stillness settles the mind.

Today, before running, I stopped to look where I would begin today's journey. Here's a photo. Isn't it quite nice?

A blue and green archway that seemed to say, "okay, one foot in front of the other." So I took off happy, thinking of which way I might go. I thought I might go straight on the greenway, but, no, the cars on the crossroad had a green light, so I went left and up through Dix Park. 

I alternated between grass and asphalt, running along the train tracks that bifurcate the old Dix Park Hospital complex for people with mental illness. I soon swerved from the tracks and pushed over into the Big Field, acres and acres of rolling grass big enough to stage festival shows. 

Today, a lone man flies a drone above the field. I ignore the buzzing sound and feel the soft landing as my feet hit the grass. I imagine I'm alone on the savanna in Africa, tens of thousands of years ago, hurrying home to my clan. This feeling connects me to a not so distant past. We've cluttered our lives here, for better and worse. Running in this way free of roads or paths or timers or words flowing into my ears - well, it nourishes my body's need to feel its place on the earth and in space and time. 

I take my time going around the field. I like this feeling too much to let go. But soon it's time to head back toward the greenway and the end of my run. As I traverse Hunt Drive, though, I am confronted with my state's maximum security prison, one of the few in the country still sitting in an urban area. It's disheartening to contemplate. I say a quick, silent hope for the people in there. I wish we didn't lock up so many, and I am saddened by the poverty, racism and greed that makes this possible. 

Allowing these thoughts in as I finish running is part of why I call this effort, this conversation with you, myzenrun. Running for me allows my mind to open. I am reminded with this instance that we are all alone. I like to think, thought, that we are alone together. Understanding this gives me empathy, and I get better at this understanding each time I move myself through my world, one step at a time.

October 17 Run -- the old standby

By Greg Rideout

Time: 10 a.m. 

Weather: Nice, about 60F

Route: Reedy Creek Greenway Trail Raleigh to Walnut Creek Trail 

Distance: About 3 miles or so 

 

The Old Standby held me in close today as I figured out how to begin this conversation with you.

 

I label my runs Zen runs because I believe there's a value in being in the space I'm in as I run. To feel the ground through my feet and up through my legs and into my heart. To notice the surroundings: wet ground, brown grass, bright blue sky or the myriad of other details that make up my run. It's a way to think about being here, and thus to contemplate being human. 

 

This run today started wonderfully, with a greeting to my neighbors as I walked down South Street in Boylan Heights, Raleigh, North Carolina, USA. "Off to run," I said. I've said that so many times to so many people. But today it gave me a greater thrill. I knew I'd mention it here, in my conversation with you.

 

The Old Standby is the run I take down the Raleigh Greenway from my house. I'm going to take a lot of different routes as I take my Zen runs here. But, this one is special. I get to go through two tunnels. I look forward to the tunnels. There's a coolness when I enter. I like the tunnels on very hot days. I also like the echoes of my feet as I pass through. It's a reminder that my feet trudge on, doing the good work, and they want a bit of applause. Sometimes I say, "way to go feet" when I hear them in the tunnels. 

 

There are also three creeksides I run by. Each offering chances to see fast water when it rains or familiar rocks and paths. Sometimes I see people in the creeks, but not often. Bridges cross the creeks twice. When I go over a bridge, I feel as if I'm on a journey. They demarcate one place from the next. The bridges fire my imagination, and sometimes I am hundreds of yards down the path before breaking the reverie of the journey dreams in my head. 

 

Today I ran easy. Sometimes I run not so easy at all, with an ache here or a slowness that tells me I might just stop and not run. I almost always pull through that, but sometimes I don't. I'm always okay with that. I know I'll run again. I glided along, passing children in the tunnel -- and I got to hear delightful screaming and the laughs at echoes that children hoped to hear. Adults often forget to scream for fun. Screaming for fun lifts the spirits. I guess it reminds us we are here, or that we are not alone. I didn't scream today. But I hope I remember to scream and hear my echo tomorrow. 

 

I finished the run strong. I like to challenge myself at the end. I don't always sprint, but I like to. Today I sprinted the last couple of hundred feet. I pulled air into my lungs to push fast. I love that feeling. The one of air in the lungs. It's the giver of our existence, and today I amped that up by moving fast. What a great thing. What a great run.