running
– as a sport, a recreation, is an immensely pleasurable thing to do. all it requires are a pair of shoes, some quiet space and a love for being mindful to your body. it can be as competitive or relaxing as you wish. you can be quite the brand ambassador for an
ever growing variety of running gear (bum bags, skorts,
fitness trainers , calf sleeves, hydration belts, layers of clothing, anti-glare glasses, for a start) or you
can be more of a stick- to- the- basics type -
where you pretty much only invest in a pair of appropriate shoes. the magazine
and media driven promotion of running is ironic given that it is essentially an
activity we indulged in as a species since our time in the serengeti.
i’ve
always been a bit of an outdoor person – my early childhood saw me climb trees, often sleep outdoors gazing
at the night sky, play every kind of sport and game. i did run a few short races in school but i was
never drawn to sprinting or to competitive organised running. it was only during my late teens that i entered the truly pleasurable world of
running alone. no racing, no “opponent”, no stress, no sweat (figuratively anyway). when i lived abroad i
began running along scenic trails
through woods and grassy meadows,
through ice and snow country,(learnt to visually distinguish between run-able slippery to safe types of ice) along small farms and creeks, along winding
rivers, crashing waves and unending stretches of country roads – i soaked
in the sensory pleasures of all things
foreign - the richness in the variety of the terrain, of the woods, the groves of sycamores, of
redwoods, the distinct seasons, the smells of grass
in summer, the sticky richness of maple syrup being tapped, and the sight of
placid cows chewing away lazily- i even
enjoyed the sight of fellow runners with their often futuristic looking apparel
and accessories (women in head-to-toe spandex pushing running buggies in the dead of winter was to
me one of the most “foreign” sights ever). and i always loved the quiet. i
neither craved for nor sought after a running group or companion– there was so
much overwhelming beauty around – it required no extra sentiment of
appreciation whatsoever.
to me running is
like much like reading a book – best done alone, without much need for
discussion, a time to slow down one’s thoughts, to pay attention to the world
one runs in. it is an early morning clearing of cobwebs in the mind and a
peaceful way to plan my day ahead. (the fact that somehow my day never goes as
planned deters me never). i don’t ever plug-in to music when i run and choose instead to listen
to the sounds of the morning - bird calls, the timeless trrring of the milkman’s
bicycle. often i simply enjoy the soothing
sounds of the soft panting of my dogs running beside me and of my
feet landing on the ground in rhythmic pace. Thoreau
was probably not a runner but i think he must have also felt the same way
walking through the woods “I never found the companion that was so
companionable as solitude.”
nowadays,
i run quite leisurely (sounds better
than slow) in definitely non-scenic, urban surroundings. a few short stretches
of road sans people and vehicles is as luxurious as i can wish for it to be. yet it is as close to meditation and
mindfulness as i get -
no distracting conversation, bad
moods to handle (or ignore), definitely
no picture taking to post on social media. i neither measure nor care about my speed or
distance or heart-rate but i do fret if i need to miss my unremarkable,
non-scenic, often non-quiet run in the
morning. running is primal and pleasurable. as the writer murakami says “I’ll be
happy if running and i could grow old together “.
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