The Solace of Empty Voices

I woke up this morning malnourished, dehydrated, exhausted.  There were about six hundred times when I felt like finding an excuse to not go out the door for a run and another six hundred or so once I did to go right back to bed.  Life seems unbelievably difficult right now, for many reasons.  As I consciously forced myself to move forward, the world, as it always does, melted away and existence became merely the sound of my breath.  It was a profound relief.  I slowed way down (which is a revelation in itself) and found deep joy in it.

This is the very opposite of running from your problems.  I think that as runners, we can run into our problems.  I think the act of running itself is a kind of mindfulness that can be extraordinarily beneficial.  It is mindfulness after all which soothes an aching heart, an angry heart, a lost heart.  The voices of the world lose their timorous sound and merge with my own breath and the cadence of my legs and I become indistinguishable from anything else.  Running isn't a consolidation of self, it is a renunciation of it peacefully.  Running is solace.  Is protean.  Is restorative.  Is, with eating and drinking, a link home for us.  We're upright, beautiful, and have brains that are much too large for their own good.  Or at least mine is.  Life distilled is simple.  Joyful.  Uncertain.  Uncomfortable.  Perfect.  And as I carry around the world with me all clamoring in my head and heart I know that briefly, every day, I can run into the middle of it and let it wash over me.  And that I can do it tomorrow too.

Our bodies are wild.  Problem is, our brains are too.