Habits are pernicious things. It is so easy to fall into old
ones, but difficult to start new ones. Anyway, it’s been my experience there
are good habits and there are less good ones. I’m not sure where blogging falls
along that continuum. I’m fairly sure where running falls though. 25 years of
experience on the roads and trails has afforded me a bit of certainty, even
authority in this area. Running is a good habit.
Over the years I have run in races of varying distance,
although racing for me is not all that important. Being outside in the world
breathing in the seasons is where it’s at. This morning I was up at 4,
breathing in the cold moist air of Oyster Bay, the hamlet where I live on the
north shore of Long Island Sound. I have a fairly regular 5 mile route that
winds through Roosevelt Park. It’s an out-and-back course that, for a time,
hugs the shoreline of the bay. At that hour of the morning you hear the water,
rather than see it. Even with my headlamp on, the darkness is impenetrable. I’m
reasonably sure they bay is there, because the cry of the gulls, sounds of the
waves and the slapping of rigging against sailboat masts tends towards that
conclusion. Plus, I’ve seen the place in the daytime.
Viewed from the perspective of a normal person, running in
the dark at 4 in the morning is a weird thing to do. People can’t wrap their
minds around why you would rather be outside fighting the wind and rain and
freezing cold , rather than spending an extra hour in bed sleeping, all warm
and toasty. While I find it hard to
explain to other people, to me the reasons are fairly self-evident. The
solitude. The sheer joy of physical movement. The ability to be wholly present
in each moment, with each footfall. The deep knowledge that you are part of the
environment, not separate from it. All that stuff. Like most experiences that
transcend words, the description of it is a pale imitation of the thing itself.
By the time I’m getting back, the world is starting to stir.
To wake up. Coffee is being brewed and people are dragging their asses into the
shower. I’m up, and alive, and thankful for another day.
