Running is My Religion

     Forrest Gump, Patron Saint in the 

Church of Runnin' Fools

Not really. I'm Jewish.

But I love to run.

I recognize this will make me somewhat suspect to a large number of people, and I recognize that running can be the absolute worst. If you're not in shape, or if it's too hot, or if you didn't drink enough water yesterday or drank too much wine last night, or if it's too hilly, or not hilly enough, or you ate too much dairy at lunch or WHATEVER, it can be absolutely awful.

It's really hard to write about what's great about running. One of my favorite authors, Haruki Murakami, gave it a go with, "What I Talk About When I Talk About Running." And it's good. Really.

But it still doesn't quite capture it for me, which makes me fairly certain that it can't be written about well. I suspect it's because it's just something that's too intensely personal, and that each person's experience with it is unique to them.

Hush. Can't you see I'm meditating?

Image from allposters.com

For me, when I run alone, it's like a meditation. On the top level of my consciousness, the level that is usually buzzing with grocery lists, conference calls, and remembering to let the dogwalker know when we'll be out of town, there is a blissful silence.

It is the only time of day that what yoga instructors would call my "monkey mind" stops swinging from tree to tree and settles down for a banana and a nap.

The next level down is an awareness of the rhythm that my breathing and footsteps are making. Pat-pat (IN), pat-pat (OUT), pat-pat (IN), pat-pat (OUT). I am shockingly consistent- and consistently slow. I prefer to run long distance races because, whether I'm running a 5k or a marathon, my pace is exactly the same. A pace that is embarrassing at mile 3 of 3.1 becomes downright respectable at mile 20 of 26.2.

NPR's "Radio Lab" ran a great piece about Diane Van Deren, an amazing ultra runner whose debilitating seizure disorder helped spur her crazy achievements. She describes her inner rhythm as  "running music". Of course, her tempo's more of a quick-step while I'm doing more of a waltz, but the idea is the same.

Finally, deep below the surface, my subconscious is churning its way through whatever big questions I'm chewing on in my life. Work, friends, family- all of the big stuff. In the same way that some people process things in their dreams, I work through them on my runs.

Running keeps me sane. It keeps my stress levels down, gets me outside, helps me keep perspective and gives me confidence. Whatever work assignment they throw at me, it won't be as tough of miles 18-24 of the marathon at the end of Ironman.

The title of this entry was not intended as a joke. My very best runs bring me the closest I've ever felt to the presence of God. The beauty of the functioning of my body- my strong beating heart, wide open lungs, light-as-air-but-powerful-as-pistons legs- all of them seem like a miracle and a blessing. The day sharpens and becomes clearer, and I feel nothing but gratitude for the day, the people around me, and the chance to just RUN.

At the end of my first 1/2 Ironman, it was 100 degrees out,
and I was LOVING IT.