But as much as I love the objective look at running, I love looking back on the experience of the run even more. Who I was with, the feel of the ground under my feet, the air in my lungs, and the route I was on are all pretty subjective things. They are hard to write down in a running log and so in the process of running that day, I try to file things away in my brain. Now, there is nothing more futile than saying I will remember something and not write it down. There is seemingly something about how I am wired that allows me to remember moments from many of my efforts over the years (the same thing applies to recalling PRs versus that person’s name I just met). Weirdly, I may not remember a step from Monday’s run while I can burrow into my memory and haul out something from my high school days.
I had two such runs over the last two days. Both of alarmingly distinct character, but still reverberated with something inside me.
Run #1- Wednesday I went out Platte River State Park. Sweet place to run, got out on the single-track and hills by about 4:15. Negotiating the twists, and the steeps, and the fallen trees, and the leaves causes an exhilaration that no amount of road running can bring. By the time I was getting back to my car, the sun had long since set. Forgetting my headlamp caused the 15 minutes to be run in near darkness or negotiating in a not very helpful twilight. Watching the nature of this trail before me change was fascinating as I went from swooping along to carefully picking my way over leaf blanketed roots and rocks. But sitting there munching on a CLIF Balance Bar (my new favorite thing and this is a unapologetic endorsement in the middle of an emotional bit of writing. I don’t care and there will be no arguing about it), with the surrounding forest just emanating peace and solitude I was oddly content, just being and not doing anything.
180 degree turn. Did 1000m repeats on the track at school tonight. Started at 415 again with sun not very high up. Each interval ended with ever longer shadows on the track, my hands getting cooler as lane 1 lost the light of day, my own shadow even abandoned me by the last third of the workout. Even on something as seemingly boring as a 400m track, you can find solace in the run. The sounds of the area; kids doing brake stands in the parking lot, the hum of traffic on 27th Street, the ring of a cell phone as someone is walking their dog from the apartments nearby all kind of fade away. This phenomenon doesn’t happen all that often to me. But on occasion I find even the sound of my footsteps and even my raspy breathing at the end of an interval fall of into white noise.
Here is the best part. The absolute best way to end a run. The way you should finish every run no matter the distance, or type of workout, or effort. I was left wanting to do just a little bit more running.