Running.

I ran today. I’ve been creeping back into the habit, but it’s not the easiest.

My concerns about a fundamental change in myself were probably premature. There is still within me a desire to hurt and exert. Thank God.

I kept pushing through the 15kilometres around the reservoir, and my lungs were on fire. I coughed and coughed and every time, my chest ached across my collar bone and down to my sternum. The muscles were cold and sore. My knees hurt and my ankles were threatening failure. But I kept going.

I remember one time a freshly unencumbered ex read what was basically an online workout journal I was keeping. He said, in the most egotistical way, that he was concerned with how I was coping with my loss. The loss of him (puke), in case you’re not following. I told him I was fine. He said I was making unhealthy decisions. I told him I was fine. He said he was concerned with my running routine. I told him that running was healthy. He said running until I puked was not healthy. It was, indeed, a detailed log that he had been reading.

It pointed out to me a fundamental misunderstanding on his part of what I was then and probably still am till today. I don’t run until I puke because of anyone. Because I’m sad or angry or any other reason. I run until I puke because it is "Run Until I Puke Day" that day. Have you ever pushed yourself like that? If you haven’t, then you probably wouldn’t understand.

There is a point of exertion where you are no longer yourself. It’s not a runner’s high, it’s a runner’s particulate extinction.

I found my forever pace again. Everyone has one. It’s the pace you can hold forever. Lay it in and you can glide for miles and miles and miles until the run is just another thing you do. Like breathing or hearing. Five miles or ten miles, it doesn’t matter. It’s the pace where your footsteps are silent and your breathing is another orbit of another world, important but not pressing.

Somewhere in the 30/60/120 sprints and four mile motto runs, I lost my forever pace. It was gone. I only knew how to push it or stop. I could burn it up or leave it cold. Words I have heard a few too many times in my life: It’s all or nothing with you.

But I found it again, though it is not necessarily between all or nothing. It isn’t some middle path. It’s another world of deep convergence. I’m not even sure what that sentence meant, but it describes it perfectly. It’s all and nothing.

But then there’s those times you hit two miles and just want to run hard and fast in the cold until your lungs bleed. And that is greater than happiness or sadness or contentment. This is the greater part of me.