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?