Why I Run

A space … a gap … a pause … a moment of nothing and everything.

What happens in these places? Are they moments of emptiness? Or are they moments of fullness?

A lot can happen in a pause. Thoughts fire in the brain. They are collected and sorted, with one selected as the course of action. A pounding heart is felt. Breath is caught, air pulled back into the lungs to breathe fully again.

In a millisecond, with a gap of consciousness, the old brain is activated. It makes a decision. We react. We don’t actually THINK. Later, we feel, and then we rationalize.

Yet in those gaps there are sweet moments of blankness that calm me. Instinct may fire away in my old brain, but my new brain turns off. My always thinking, always processing, always pondering brain turns off.  

On a run today, I popped off the path and took the railroad tracks. I must watch every step to ensure I place my feet down solidly on a wooden tie or a solid patch of rocks. I’m clumsy. Running the tracks is a great challenge for me to not stumble or trip to twist my angle. My mind is completely focused on what is right in front of me. I don't have time to think. I must just put down a foot. Yet I must be quick and agile to adjust with each step.

Jogging on a railroad bridge is a trip in itself. The space between ties is replaced literal space – and view of the water below. I slow my pace, but I am not afraid of this height and uneven surface. One misstep and my foot lands nowhere, and I fall. I must focus even more but these are all thoughts I realize after the run. 

Time pauses. I am focused and do not realize time, or mileage, passing. In pause, I am with myself yet not with myself, not thinking and yet complete focused. In these spaces, I think nothing and yet something happens. It’s bliss.

This is why I run.