Eviction Notice
I was runnnnning....
Pad, pad, pad, pad, pad, pad, gravel-crunching halt as I wait for the turkeys to pass, they who look at me as the fool for running in the rain. Pad, pad, pad, pad, a moment of self doubt as I painfully lurch up a hill, then careen down some slippery wet rocks, envisioning being found in a broken heap three days later, mostly eaten by gloating turkeys, pad pad, pad, pad, pad……….release.
Runners as a group intrigue and irritate me all at once. They are a cult of ghosts, sometimes whispering by you alone as you walk down a trail, sometimes loudly clanging cow bells at organized events, where despite truckloads of bagels and bananas, everyone looks emaciated. The purists look down their noses at everyone, the uninitiated have gaits that are apparently horrendous, and I still can’t get a read on why anyone thinks the actual running is “fun”. Here’s what I HAVE learned, though….running accomplishes two things for me:
- If I ever want to cut weight, there’s no more surefire way than to take up running, preferably longer distances than from the kitchen table to the fire truck.
- The release of endorphins, the purging of mental toxins, the ability to converse with the voices in my head, the mindless and fruitful flights of the creative side of life, all of these take place as I lumber through parks and trails and neighborhoods, one pathetic mile at a time.
I have no desire to run competitively in a long distance capacity. I’d like to try a half or whole marathon once, just so I can put a sticker on my car and act all elite and shit, but truth be told, competing in that arena requires a discipline and lack of body fat to which I’m not really ready to commit. So it’s like I casually date running, we hook up when it’s not hockey night or CrossFit isn’t happening, and while I always feel good afterwards, I’m still not in love enough to actually become a runner. The Wife, however, has; she completed a half-marathon this past weekend, an accomplishment for which I want to kill her out of envy and beam with pride, in equal amounts. She now subscribes to Running Runner or some other such magazine where I am to understand they tell the reader to run and rest and eat. In that order.
So as I went running by the turkeys the other morning, it served meaning for me. Running alone in the rain is an act of purification and rare joyous solitude. Scrambling over wet rocks and avoiding getting clubbed by bounding deer keeps me on my toes, a crossword puzzle of the legs and lungs. As well, there are people and events taking up space in my mind, squatters, really, who aren’t paying rent. They are of no consequence in the big picture, so of course, I give them way too much time and effort. Negative, hateful and judgmental as hell, I’d normally admire these qualities and insist that we be the best of friends, but such isn’t the case. No amount of staring at blank pieces of paper, willing art to come forth, or essays to be written can take place when I’m allowing the monkeys in my brain access to pipe wrenches and pots & pans. They, the events, the people, the mayhem, needed to be evicted. Right there on the trail.
That happens at mile #2. Mile 2 is where notice is served, and the mind begins to take back what belongs to it, the monkeys get crammed back into cages and mayhem is mitigated into controlled chaos…
Shit shouldn’t be happening to me like this, says the mayhem.
Sure it should, says the running mind. Life isn’t about being fair, or easy, or how YOU want it to turn out.
Mayhem says it doesn’t work like this.
Sure it does, say the miles. Your script matters not, but guess, what? THIS is life. It IS supposed to work out like this, and you’re just a bit player, a stand-in. Now, watch out for that branch, it’s gonna clean smack you in the face.
Mayhem begins to lose control of the conversation, and outwardly, I smile. Grinning like an idiot at the turkeys and the deer and the jittery squirrel, who eyes me uneasily, I smile. This is that moment. This is why some people run. In the confines of conversations of the mind, this is what I seek. Time to once again be landlord of my own mind. Running as church.
Balance will be restored. It may not be of your design, but you’ll survive. Life isn’t a sticom, nor a rom-com, nor a Shakespearean endeavor. It is what it is, and you’re a part of it. Open the door; let the assholes out and the sunshine in.
As rain and sweat and tears all mingled freely across my face and down the trail, I realized that despite low miles, a disparaging lack of consistency and a body more suited to hockey than distance mileage, I am, in fact, something of a runner.