Meditate on this

I keep forgetting that running is a form of meditation for me.

It's been far to easy to think of it only as training, therapeutic maintenance for my back, and more recently as a mood enhancement.

It also doesn't click when I'm running with other people or when I'm running at the gym. Ugh, the gym. At the gym, my brain is all over the place: I'm thinking about my pace, the time; I'm concentrating on adjusting my stride to the infernal machine; I'm watching my mileage, the clock, other people, the TV. There are just too many distractions. And it's intentional, because you're trying to distract your brain, because it's just so damn boring. Just go, do your thing, get it over with, and get the hell out of there. If people try to exercise more (say, for a New Year's resolution) by joining a gym, it's no surprise to me that so many people don't stick with it. It drives me crazy, and I LIKE exercising.

No, it can only be a meditation when it's solo, outside, preferably on quiet roads or through the woods.

I had forgotten, until yesterday.

It was cold. I didn't really want to go out, but I hadn't run all weekend; two days off since the long run on Friday.

I'd been thinking about a class from the previous day. It's a class that focuses on people skills, taught in the context of the therapeutic relationship, but which has broader application in developing general communication skills and self-awareness. For the most part, the class has been enjoyable, but some of the discussion and exercises in Sunday's class (on self-awareness and finding the core self), didn't jive and had left me a bit frustrated.

And so that's where my head was when I went on this run.

Well no -- I was probably spending more time dwelling on how I didn't really feel like going out in the cold, but that I needed to put some miles in, and that being outside would be better than being in the gym.

Probably high 20s, headphones on (MP3 player in an inner layer). Just wanting to get the damn thing over with.

And sometime around mile 3, past the busy intersection by the hotels and the 'Co and the Despot, past the last traffic light, with the reservoir on my right and the woods on my left, I find my rhythm.

There's a mindfulness to it. Breathing, moving.

Breathe in, breathe out. Left foot, right foot. Arms swing. A gentle pendulum twist between the shoulders and hips. The road passing underneath. And just you inside your head.

I found my core. Connections between memories and thoughts. It was good, but I'll spare you the details.

Running IS exercise. But it's also mindfulness of your breath, of your body. There's discipline and dedication*. And hopefully clarity of thought.

In the most recent issue of National Geographic, there's a photo of a Buddhist monk chanting under the frigid waters of a waterfall in Japan. I thought it was a cool picture, but I remember thinking that, in the pursuit of a more spiritual self, I probably drew the line somewhere well before standing beneath a torrent of freezing water.

But I will run. (Although I'm thankful I've only had to run in the rain once this season so far.)

* I found an article that discusses the difference between discipline and dedication on the Runner's World site. Check it out. As a dedicated, but fairly undisciplined runner, I found it an interesting and valuable way of looking at things.