Running thoughts

I don't know how to meditate. I've tried. I've followed guidelines, read about it, listened to advice from others, and every time I take a stab at it I just feel like I'm failing. Maybe that's the whole point, and by trying I'm missing out on what it's all about. I think there's something there, there's something valuable. I have friends that swear by it. But each time I give it an attempt I feel my mind straying.

Running, for me, is my own form of meditation. When I hear others talking about it, what it means for them, I nod along and can attribute similar feelings to being out on an open road, going through a woody trail, feeling the sky above me.

I've written about this before, how running puts the mind into a different place. It's not for everyone. I've known many people who swear off running as much as I've sworn off lifting weights. It doesn't work for them, it's nothing but pain, it offers no boon. I get it. I feel the same about other things. For me, for some strange reason, running is entirely an upside event. I anticipate it, I enjoy the feeling while I'm moving, and I appreciate the radiance of energy for hours afterward. There's no weather where running isn't worth it (except for smoke, I tried that, not a good idea).

And, all these years later after my first two-mile jaunt with my future father-in-law, I'm still putting on my shoes (never lacing, but that's another story. Just tie them loosely. Tight shoes don't work for my high arches) week after week, and hitting the trail. Part of it, other than the benefits that accrue physically (of which there are many), is because of what it does for my mind.

If it weren't for a set of bad knees I'd have doubled or tripled my efforts over the last decade and really put on the miles. But as it is, I'm grateful that I can still take on a few miles here and there, and with care up them toward the half marathon distance.

Where does the mind fit in then? The brain does a funny thing when you're distracted with forward movement, one step after another, mindful to avoid tripping, watching out for vehicles, checking around bushes for errant moose ready to charge (that happened this week, thankfully I didn't make an attractive target). The body, set into a metronome of action, a regular rhythm of movement, tends to allow the mind freedom of thought. When I'm at my desk, working in front of a small glowing rectangle, my mind narrows, intentionally tasked toward what's in front of me, working to solve the problems I set out to take on as a designer. Out on the open road, in front of the endless sky, my thoughts widen, the world feels larger, my problems less.

That's why I run. That's why I get out and move. The reward of mind, of moments free from the cares of life, brings me back time and again. Yes, bills need to be paid, we need to do good at the work we're entrusted to, life demands many things of us, and all of those need to get done one after another. But when it's just you, and a good pair of shoes, inhibitions are less. Mortgages matter not quite so much. The life that exists behind a small monitor pales in contrast to the endless shifts of color during a sunset.

Each run ends bringing a satisfaction of something accomplished, of a mind brought to rest, of a body weary and ready for the same.

Maybe it's not running for you. Maybe it's some other endeavor, other task, other meditation. Whatever it is, cling to it, return to it, find a way to work it into your life, and to enjoy the fact of doing, and not merely the hope of benefit after.

I run because it feels good, yes. I'm one of the lucky ones, but I also run because of the space it gives for my mind—the real me inside an imperfect body—to feel unlocked, livened, and free.

Also, a funny thing happens. Problems I've been wrestling with, spinning on for hours, often get solved by not tackling them head-on, by not thinking about them directly. As the miles chip away, challenging pieces slot into place, and I return to my door a little better for it, a little weary but happy.