The Long Run

I went for a solo run for the first time in a while. I've run a few times in the past weeks with my daughters to keep us active, but this was the first time in at least a month I've gone out alone. I ran my favorite course through the cemetery in part because it's my favorite distance, five miles. I felt great.

I'm rereading Chris McDougall's Born To Run. My daughter asked, "how many times have you read that?" Six or eight, I said, though it's more like ten. She rolled her eyes and left the room. What can I say? I know what I like and sometimes prefer rereading to reading anything new. Plus, the book is all about long runs and pushing against what's accepted. I'm at the part where Scott Jurek gets up from the pavement in Death Valley and wins the 135-mile Badwater race in temperatures no one was ever intended to survive let alone run through. I love reading this sort of thing.

Our new bathroom scale arrived. The old one gave out. I wonder if it got tired of me. I'm pretty heavy and it's not the pandemic that has done it. I gained twenty-seven pounds last year in a job that was killing me. I left the job but kept the weight. I'm 221 pounds when I should max out at 200 and really should be down at 185. I am working to be healthier, but losing twenty-one pounds, let alone thirty-six, isn't something I can accomplish in an afternoon without lopping off a limb. It's a long run I've struggled to ever finish. I tend to walk off the course and grab a hot fudge sundae.

Monday I start a new job. Last year, I ran for my life from teaching and went to work for the Syracuse Community Center Collaborative. That job proved to be the best I've ever had. I got to work with and for great people who patiently trained me, believed in my talent, and trusted me — the exact opposite of my teaching life. So why am I leaving after just shy of eleven months? I applied for and was accepted as the new executive director of the Syracuse Northeast Community Center. In eleven months on the job I have moved to the highest position. Fourteen months ago I described my life as "I'm treading water as I bleed to death." Now, I'm embarking on a fantastic adventure.

The thing about the long run is that there are stops along the way and things to see. On my solo run through the cemetery I passed a stone labeled "Abbott Costello" and for the hundredth time smiled imagining a cemetery rewrite of "Who's On First." I ran without thinking of mileage or effort. I felt no fatigue, felt like I could just keep running and running. And though I'm unlikely to be significantly lighter from one run, my spirit is just a bit lighter and maybe that will show up on the scale.

Sometimes the long run turns out shorter than I expect. Last year I decided to quit a terrible job and just see what might happen. You know what happened? One good thing and another and another. I can't see any good reason not to keep expecting these good things. Sure, there's always another long run, a finish line so far away it's hidden by the curvature of the Earth, the turning of the calendars pages. And the road can be hard. There were hills in my solo run today that took my breath, but I shortened my stride and whispered, take what the hill offers and give what you can. The top wasn't so far away.

In Born To Run, Scott Jurek falls to the burning pavement in Death Valley about halfway through the 135-mile race. He's spent. He's lost. He can't go on. Lying there he thinks, there is no way he can finish, certainly no way he can win. Unless he got up as though he were starting completely fresh. Unless he ran like he never had before. Unless he got up and believed he could make the long run. He got up and won the race.

I kind of know how he felt. I'll keep running and see where I end up.

Same As It Ever Was

Just got back from my first run in about a month.A slow 5K in the chilly Syracuse November. It felt good. I'm trying not to think beyond this one run and as I ran tried not to think of anything at all. It's no good thinking about the possible next runs. That's the way to failure. Instead, I want to be okay with the simple fact that I ran today and felt good. That's all. That's enough.

It's the same every time I run after a long layoff. I wonder, why haven't I done this sooner? But I know. It's because running felt impossible. It's not just that I feel unmotivated. Even at my lowest I a run will feel good and take me out of the darkness. I understand that as fact, but I just can't run right then. I'm know that just as sure. Of course I could run except that I can't.

I wish I could explain it better.

Chance gets me running again. Today, I left work earlier than in the last few weeks. I'd done a day's work and I'll put in extra hours tomorrow night. Staying at work would have been a case of diminishing returns for the organization and for me too. So I walked home, pet the dog, changed into running clothes, and went out the door, down the road.

There wasn't much thought or planning. Thought and planning keep me from running more than they get me out on the road. I felt like a run was possible and kind of wanted to. I didn't think it would transform me. I'd still be fat and the answers to life's big questions would still elude me. Still, it felt like the thing to do.

I texted my wife that I was going for a short run. I kept expectations low for me, not her. I told the dog I'd be back soon. That I went for a run and it was the same as it ever was. The same good, not great. Nothing to write home about, but here I am. Another thing same as it ever was.

It's best to let these things be instead of thinking them to death. Someday I may figure out how to do that. Then again, probably not.

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Speaking of thinking things to death, this is another instance of writing something I've written before (probably several times). I worry about that but I need to think things through a few times. If I bored you, sorry, but that's how this works. The writing is free and you get what you pay for. I've probably written that before too.

Not Quite Midnight Run

The computer is killing me. My work laptop has the absolute worst trackpad. Thank you, Hewlett-Packard! I may bring my computer from home to get through tomorrow without feeling crippled. That or start exercising. Maybe both.

Tonight, I sat on the couch under a cat (which is more comfortable than being on top of a cat, for both of us). My neck and arm ached too much to hold the book I was reading (Running With Sherman by Christopher McDougall which is good and getting better with each page). I set the book down, closed my eyes, and tried to meditate, but the sounds of cartilage moving in my neck was too disturbing.

I should go for a run tomorrow morning, I thought.

I've thought that for two, maybe three weeks, but each morning snooze until I've run out of time for a run. After work, I can't fit in a run with picking up our daughter, helping cook dinner, and whatever else comes up. Really, I just don't feel up to running and so make every excuse.

I should really go for a run, I thought again, leaving off the tomorrow morning part.

Running is my go-to cure for depression and stemming the blues. When I go for a run, I end up feeling better most every time. When I run regularly, I stay out of the blues and the blacks of depression.

I wonder, why the hell don't I just keep running?

I'm reminded of the scene from The West Wing in which Leo McGarry explains alcoholism to a woman. "I drank and took drugs because I'm drug addict and an alcoholic," he says. I've yet to complete a psychology degree (mostly because I've yet to begin one), but it seems to me that my not running and depression are part of a circle or maybe a sphere that tipped just the right way allows me to run 50K but tipped a degree off that axis leaves me on the couch, thirty pounds overweight.

I should..., I thought.

The cat got over me moving her. The dog popped up at the sound of her leash at eight o'clock in the evening. I strapped on my sandals, told my wife and daughter I was taking the dog, and went out in khakis, t-shirt, and hoodie. Not exactly running wear.

I leashed the dog and we jogged down the road. The dog prefers to sniff everything but went along down the block and around the corner. My pace was slower than slow. The distance was maybe once around a track. The dog stopped twice because things just had to be peed on (by her more than me). We returned home almost giddy. I chased her on the front yard hill, her favorite game, then we decided go in and tell people all about our adventure.

I don't know if I'll run tomorrow. I think I should, but if I don't, at least I went tonight. And, depending on the angle and axis around which I end up spinning tomorrow, maybe I'll still feel this good.

Without Numbers

Second day in a row, I went for a run without my watch. I have no idea if this will be a trend. I kept turning my left hand over to look at my wrist during the run. At the end of today's I almost pushed my right index finger to my left wrist but felt foolish enough to stop. Old habits. The watch keeps track of heart rate too and I've long run in a low heart-rate range. Going without the watch, I don't know what my heart rate was. I just ran by feel and felt good.

A guy this week ran a marathon in under two hours. First time that's been done, so far as we know. It's nice to know we have almost limitless potential. I just hope he didn't do better running through chemicals. That sort of thing happens when we get too caught up with numbers.

I'm listening to a record on the turntable. I don't know how many times I've played it and lack any way to tell mathematically, algorithmically which record, song, or artist I've heard most. Instead, I scan the spines and see what strikes my fancy. Right now it's Steely Dan's Greatest Hits and "Here At The Western World." How did that song not make it onto a regular album? I mean, really.

This month I've stayed off the scale. I know about what I weigh. No matter the number, I'm heavier than is healthy. The daily weigh in became, as it often does, a drag, so I stopped. Sitting here, I feel my belly over my belt. That's all the data I need at the moment.

This week I started a new writing notebook. It lacks page numbers and I haven't written any in. I begin notebooks wondering how long I'll take to finish them. Maybe there's a better way of thinking.

Our older daughter is home from college this weekend. I could count hours and minutes until I take her back (and we resume missing her daily presence), but I'll skip that.

Numbers are my habit and often my friend. Sometimes they get in the way and every relationship needs a break at least for a little while. I would tell you how long this break will last, but I've decided not to count.