Today, I set off to gallop beyond 6ish miles, and really make the most out of the accessibility and convenience running indoors has to offer. I came prepared; gels stacked, iPod playlist arranged, shoelaces tightly tied, nuun fizzing up in my 2 water bottles. I spent the first 20 minutes (just past 5 kilometers) untangling my headphones, trying desperately to keep my balance while totally losing focus. While I gasped for air, I noticed the cascade of salty fluids gush out of me. I slowed down from 9.5 mph to 3.5 mph and maintained that for 10 minutes. I kept the songs blasting out of my earbuds hoping my nerves would relax and heart rate to tame itself; it was at around 167, decent but can be a red flag to some. My legs gave out, left foot protested with stinging pain, and spirit totally despondent. I pushed another half mile, jolting the pace up to 8.6 mph to get as close to five miles as possible, then quit. Whatever happened to the days when 30 milers were routine, strenuous yet possible?
I think I lost something here:
Last year, I didn't think about running at all. I just did it. It was something that was essential to life, and applicable to any mode of existence I found myself in. I have the luxury of living near trailheads and state parks but I think I have taken that for granted.
In the trails, amid solitude and silence, all of the emotions and mechanisms of the body are communicated and heard. Thoughts are magnified; there is no clamorous fight between Gangnam Style blasting on the gym stereo or whatever noise emanated from the ear buds and the self. Running is simple and concise. The more complex one makes it, the fulfillment value becomes less. Simplicity gives one the chance to appreciate one's self, realize their full capacity, and to truly enjoy the adventure. Running trails is harmonious to meditation, and that's very important.
Tomorrow, I will run the Redtown Trail, rain or shine.
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On a completely, sort of, unrelated note, here's a track I enjoy listening to and imagine myself running:
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