Run With Mu

Why do we race? Why do we keep lining up at starting lines, crossing “finish” lines, and starting all over again at another start line? I haven’t participated in a race since March 25, a half marathon, and I haven’t really thought about racing in the future. But there is something in me that is craving more than exercise: over the past two weeks, for no particular reason, I began running two more days per week, and have started running with significantly more intensity than in recent weeks. There was no timetable for this; my body, impatient with the current clock I had set for it, was simply telling me it wanted to run more, and faster. I responded with some caution, but given how well my body has taken to my response, I know now it was the right thing to do.

I have some vague notion of really starting to ramp up mileage again in August, for a race schedule I haven’t even begun to really think about. For me, part of taking time away from racing is to look from a distance and understand my relationship to racing. Part of it is certainly that I still enjoy pushing my body-mind to its limit, and seeing if that limit can be pushed out further somehow. There is also a lot of personal fascination in balancing nutrition, hydration, and pacing issues during a 12- or 24-hour race; it’s like playing the old classic PC game Oregon Trail, but for real.

But, if I’m really honest with myself, my ego enjoys telling people that I’m about to take part in a 50-mile trail race. And, even deeper, there is in me a desire to somehow stand outside of the herd, to find a club (paraphrasing Woody Allen) where, if I’m not the only member, I can at least be counted among the fewer … even though, paradoxically, I tend to not like the spotlight shining on me.

In short, my relationship to running and racing is complicated, because I’m a neurotic mess. But I’m really no different from anyone else; like the late Zen teacher Charlotte Joko Beck (another memorial in this year of memorials) said, we’re all a neurotic mess, really. It’s not until you take time away from something and study it carefully from a distance, the way we do our minds in zazen, that you become aware of just how messy things (and we) are.

Why take time to find out you’re a mess? It helps clarify your relationships to things and makes it easier to laugh at and live with your neuroses — and help avoid the traps, big and small, your egoistic tendencies might push you into. Should I really run two marathons a month for the next 12 months and start a website about it? Why? Am I really capable of a Boston Marathon qualifier, or do I just want to use the phrase “Boston Marathon qualifier” at parties? If you pay close attention, taking time away brings perspective and helps qualify and prioritize the hungers and desires you’re feeling.

But in the past two weeks, my body told me, “run more” and I have responded. It feels right, is the only thing I can think of. Where it will lead in the weeks and months ahead, I can’t really say. For now, I’m just trying to listen.

“Anything within a performance is significant, whether intentional or not,” says composer, guitarist and composer Robert Fripp. This is certainly true of racing. Just a few seconds’ slip of awareness can lead to bypassing a crucial refueling stop, missing a trail marker and getting lost, or absently tipping any one of another thousand dominoes, toppling over the best laid race plans. Part of a runner’s training is to constantly practice staying with the breath and maintain awareness with every step, always being present in the here and now despite pain and fatigue, despite the ego urging us to go faster, faster. Stay with your breath and body, and continually adjust your race based on their constant feedback. Your mind and emotions make stuff up; your breath and body are what they are, and they never lie. Stay with them, relax in their unerring guidance, and understand every step is important, another few inches closer to your goal. Don’t let one go by unnoticed.