More on the Zen of Running

"Running is about acceptance—of yourself and others. When you’re out on the trail sweating, it doesn’t matter if the guy or gal next to you works at a fast food joint or is a CEO. It’s doesn’t matter what color they are, or how old they are, or what religion they practice, if any" - BART YASSO

First of all, I’d like to thank my friend who sent this inspirational quote to me. When I looked outside this morning to see how it’s again windy, and everything outside is plastered with new, wet, sticky snow, it was so tempting to say, “Screw it!”, and spend the rest of the morning in bed, or putzing around with something else trivial. However, the quote was a reminder of why I shouldn’t give up today’s commitment to do my run. I know I’m tougher and more disciplined than that; even though it’s my less favoured option, I still have the indoor track at the Field House to use during times of this sort of inclemency.

Sometimes my friend; sometimes my nemesis.

Wild odometer reading
to end the day at the
track with. 178 kms to go
for the month's end.

Acceptance is honestly what it’s all about, as like through the course of performing any other form of focused meditation. When I start running, I become immediately conscious of how my legs and my lungs are trying to work together in synchrony, and it’s just natural to start getting tuned into the condition of the other elements of this collection of matter and energy I call my physical body during this feat, doing this together with some heightened awareness and sharpened focus. For me, little effort is used to think of much beyond the moment when I'm engaged in this, so then running then doesn’t really differ much from a session of sitting meditation. Aching, discomfort, pain: all these things that are creations of the mind, may come during or long after the circuit; accepting the fact that they are temporary conditions allows one push through them, and then these things somehow dissolve away and pass quicker than initially expected.

21:28 . . .my fastest 5 kms
so far.

It’s at some time, I’d say, at a point after the fifth kilometer when the body stops registering things as aching and discomfort, and then throws itself into some sort of autopilot mode. The breathing takes care of itself, and all the rhythms are set for allowing the whole system to work together efficiently and automatically: as if it “accepts” itself. I begin to feel like my legs are carrying me all by themselves, rather than me using any effort to make them move. I get so wrapped up in the momentum of all this happening that I lose sense of time; I actually risk failing to hydrate myself properly when this occurs because I don’t want to stop, or slow down, while I’m riding this wave. Luckily, I have vocal feedback of my status piped in from my pedometer app through my earphones every fifteen minutes, along with my favourite tunes, to help keep me grounded. I don’t know what else to say about this experience, if there is one. If there is no sense of time, likewise, there shouldn’t be a perceived event; therefore, no “experience” from that moment to reflect on, just “acceptance”. But hey, let’s not get too trippy now with that kind of logic.

Having the aforementioned quote in mind, thinking beyond any suffering I may be having, and being in the mode of acceptance I believe was a great help to me for breaking past my own pace record for five kilometers.

4' 19"/km. . . getting better

To expand more on Yasso’s quote, I really do get a better sense of connection between myself and the others I see running near me: be it on the track, streets, or the park trails. We do it to push ourselves harder to perhaps make ourselves more resilient and seasoned to handle the other harsher realities of life, or to claim some time for ourselves to be active, and yet remain meditatively centred and peaceful. Running, like Zen, shouldn’t be thought of as a religion, but a long and sweaty fast-paced trip towards having a glimpse, for even a small moment, at a natural form of ecstasy from the simple pleasure of being able to move, breathe, and be alive.