I run for the images I collect, for the wonders I encounter. I aim for landmarks, I wish for discoveries. I observe time flowing with the transformation of light. Running can take hours and even if I run my sprints back and forth, or around and around, I notice the changing skies.
When I run, I zone out automatically. I am in touch with my body. I check on it frequently. I study my heart rate, I gauge my breathing. I pay attention to the terrain, seeking softness whenever I encounter sand or a patch of grass. I fly up slopes and carefully descend hills. I glance at my surroundings, I fill my lungs with scenery.
I listen to music, I react to voice, I accelerate to beat. I remind myself that I am moving in a horizontal dance that takes me further. I may hear the lyrics, but I never link them to anything or anyone, if not for a fleeting moment. My world is now abstract. I am in motion and I must keep moving.
And all I want to talk about is running. How are you questions can result in a deluge of running talk! But writing about it is dosed with the modesty of knowing that I am not a runner per se, that I am merely an amateur runner. I only started 6 months ago and not seriously before my recorded 30 runs!
While I am running, I thought it unjustified to write about it, because there is so much left to feel, to experience, to see and learn and an essay would be superficially inexact. Don't I want to write about running in NewYork or in SanDiago? Shouldn't I wait for the November race or the Dubai marathon?
I am running in the progressive tense, training for an event that is merely a moving target for me to organise, learn and live my newly found passion.
I may run slow and steady, my timings below those of natural born champions. But I run with verve. I burst out at dawn, or even before dawn in dozy darkness. I slip out of a sleeping house into empty streets and abandoned landscapes. At twilight, I collect my stocked up energy and run past sunsets and illuminated cities. I run wild, like a cage door has been set open and it is the only thing on my mind. I don't run to escape. I am always running towards the unknown.
But where do my runs begin and end? Do I not keep a distinct memory of most of them? Do I not dream ahead of the future runs? Every single run is an event and I have not dreaded or disliked any of them, no matter how tedious or challenging. Instead, I anticipate the next run, I push for the new speed, I imagine the next distance.
"I can't tell where the journey will end, but I know where to start...I am caught up in a dream" Avicii
When I run, I zone out automatically. I am in touch with my body. I check on it frequently. I study my heart rate, I gauge my breathing. I pay attention to the terrain, seeking softness whenever I encounter sand or a patch of grass. I fly up slopes and carefully descend hills. I glance at my surroundings, I fill my lungs with scenery.
I listen to music, I react to voice, I accelerate to beat. I remind myself that I am moving in a horizontal dance that takes me further. I may hear the lyrics, but I never link them to anything or anyone, if not for a fleeting moment. My world is now abstract. I am in motion and I must keep moving.
And all I want to talk about is running. How are you questions can result in a deluge of running talk! But writing about it is dosed with the modesty of knowing that I am not a runner per se, that I am merely an amateur runner. I only started 6 months ago and not seriously before my recorded 30 runs!
While I am running, I thought it unjustified to write about it, because there is so much left to feel, to experience, to see and learn and an essay would be superficially inexact. Don't I want to write about running in NewYork or in SanDiago? Shouldn't I wait for the November race or the Dubai marathon?
I am running in the progressive tense, training for an event that is merely a moving target for me to organise, learn and live my newly found passion.
I may run slow and steady, my timings below those of natural born champions. But I run with verve. I burst out at dawn, or even before dawn in dozy darkness. I slip out of a sleeping house into empty streets and abandoned landscapes. At twilight, I collect my stocked up energy and run past sunsets and illuminated cities. I run wild, like a cage door has been set open and it is the only thing on my mind. I don't run to escape. I am always running towards the unknown.
But where do my runs begin and end? Do I not keep a distinct memory of most of them? Do I not dream ahead of the future runs? Every single run is an event and I have not dreaded or disliked any of them, no matter how tedious or challenging. Instead, I anticipate the next run, I push for the new speed, I imagine the next distance.
"I can't tell where the journey will end, but I know where to start...I am caught up in a dream" Avicii
