Running

For 90% of my life, running is a piece in a system, a routine, designed to keep me as physically fit, emotionally balanced, and mentally well as I can be. I run alone, with friends, with my dad. I run on the road, on the trails, and, though I try to avoid it, the occasional treadmill. I run in places that are so familiar I could navigate them with my eyes closed, and as often as I can I run in places that aren't familiar at all. Some runs feel good; with every step I feel healthy, I feel fast, I feel strong. Some runs hurt in ways I didn't know a body could. 90% of the time, it's my default fitness tool - I incorporate a variety of activities and exercises to maintain the health and fitness levels I want, but running has always been my go-to. It's efficient, it's simple, and even when it's hard, it's easy. Much more important, though rare, is the 10%. 10% of the time, running is the only thing that comes between me and what I can only imagine would be something of a psychotic break. It's the only thing that provides me any sense of peace, the only thing that allows me to breathe. It provides clarity in otherwise dark, stormy, and overwhelming moments. It slows me, it calms me, it centers me. My 10% runs have been some of my fastest, and some of my very slowest; the speed of my steps depends entirely on whatever sent me out. These runs are at once an out-of-body and a connected-to-my-body experience. They remind me who I am and more complexly, why I am. 

Recently, our community, and more broadly the planet, was hit with a viral pandemic that resulted in roughly a two month shelter-in-place. With this came a long list of challenges for me and for everybody. But one that stood out to me, something I noticed and did not expect, was the number of my friends, acquaintances, and people I had never met, whose physical, emotional, and mental anchors could not exist amidst the circumstances. Most forms of fitness and health-driven activities were now unsafe, unwise, and usually unavailable. I empathized with all of them, I sympathized, but mostly, I felt gratitude. Gratitude that my anchor only requires my body and somewhere to go - and ideally a comfortable pair of running shoes - but in a pinch, I've gone without. I have plenty of other activities, exercises, experiences that help keep my head on straight and my heart pumping like it should - but easily the most important is running. And I feel overwhelmingly lucky every day that I have a body that can run and a mind that needs to.