Present of My Body

When I run outside early in the morning, my mind tends to wander.  Part of this is that I have a lot on my mind: I’m game-planning a big conversation at work, or daydreaming about a trip I want to take, or running the numbers for whether I can swing another condo.  Most of this is that running hurts, so getting lost in my head helps the miles go by faster.  (It’s why I never run on the treadmill without watching TV.)

The other day, though, I decided to be present during my run.  No daydreaming, no number crunching, no escaping to a special place in my head.  Just me, present in my body.  You might consider this an exercise in mindfulness. 

In the inky darkness of the early morning, my first sensations were around my feet, as I hit the pavement stride by stride.   I’m breathing in the city, taking in the sights and sounds of the city, but my feet are the only thing actually touching the city.  I touch city street after city street, silently and without fanfare.

Not long after I start, I feel ache and burn in my legs.  But it’s a good pain, because it reminds me I’ve actually never had any major foot, ankle, or knee problems.  I am a middle-aged man, but I can still run.  And it feels good.  Even if it feels painful.

I’m more than halfway through my run, and I’m wheezing at this point.  I’m putting my heart and lungs through their paces, and they’re doing their job.  These internal organs are so complex in what they do, all the time, without us thinking.  We are wonderfully and fearfully made!

Time for a final kick.  Normally I’d sublimate the pain for this portion of the run, but this time I let myself feel every ache and every burn.  I once heard someone say this is how you survive eating spicy foods, is not by gulping down water and panting like crazy, but rather by leaning into the burn, and eventually you acclimate to the burn level and can take in all the vivid flavors that go with it. 

I experience something of this as I stay present during my sprint.  And then I slow to a slow trot, and I am able to be present for the post-run euphoria of “runner’s high.”  My head feels clear, and my body feels like that sweet ache of waking up from a good nap.  It feels good to be present in my body.  It feels good to be grateful for the present of my body.