Running to Stand Still

I've been running a lot lately, more than usual. Having moved recently, it was a bit daunting to think about having to find new running routes, and I did not look forward to the those runs where I would inevitably find myself miles away from my home and even farther from understanding how to get back. One evening, when searching for a new route, I found myself in front of a Denny's, which was disconcerting for two reasons: 1.) I knew for a fact that there was not a Denny's within a three-mile radius of my new apartment and b.) Japanese Denny's do not have "Moons Over My-Hammy" on their menu, which is a bit depressing in it's own right.

Anyway, I'm sorry. This entry is not about Denny's. Almost two months have passed since my pioneer run, and I have since then come across plenty of good paths, trails, streets, and sidewalks that have far surpassed my old running routes. Furthermore, I have increased my mileage significantly since last year, and my runs have gradually gotten longer, and, as a result, offer me new opportunities for neighborhood exploration. Because my old apartment was located in a relatively urban and condensed area, my running routes were always along streets and through neighborhoods with tight corners barely wide enough for even a single car. My new routes, though, are in wide-open spaces, along rivers, and flow in and out of rice fields. My old runs were often stressful: I would always be looking for a car taking a corner too fast, or having to jig around those people who walk--not ride--their bikes along the sidewalks, and I would return to my apartment after my run frustrated and seething at someone who had cut me off or almost hit me. Now, however, because of my new, more rural routes I can achieve a soothing sense of solitude and peacefulness, two of many virtues that originally attracted me to long-distance running.

Last Sunday, I decided I was going to go on the longest run I have ever gone on to date, setting the goal of two hours of non-stop exertion. I recently read this book by ultarmarathoner Dean Karnazes, which put me into that hammer-it-out-tough-as-nails-never-stop-running-eat-your-own-foot frame of mind which made me want to test my endurance. The weather is getting colder now, but last Sunday was one of those warm, surreal late-October days that makes running more than just easy--it makes it, dare I say, a pleasure.

I started my watch at the staircase below my apartment, and was to the river side in less than five minutes, chugging past the families and groups of friends who were taking advantage of the nice day to have one last autumn BBQ or play catch. I slowed my pace down considerably, as I would be going twice as far as I usually go, so I had to keep my wits and not over exert myself at the beginning. Eventually, I left the recreational part of the river behind, and found myself out in the rice fields, dodging around swarms of the season's last wave of dragonflies, and watching the plumes of smoke rising from the rice farmers' burning fields. I decided to continue straight where I usually turn away from the river, and set a goal for an hour along the river, at which point I would turn and run back.

I've mentioned this point before, but there is a certain release that comes with getting outside the city, and moving into a place where I can see mountains in the distance and hear rivers slapping their water against natural banks (as opposed to the ubiquitous, concrete ones you see in Tokyo).

In no less than twenty minutes, by sheer movement of my body, I found a place where kids look for and discover cool stuff, where people pick things from trees and collect them in their free hands, where invisible creatures rustle and scurry in the bushes, where you can probably see the stars at night, where you don't have to second guess whether or not that car will stop because there are no cars, where people kick rocks along paths, where long grass tickles your legs and gets in your socks, where the houses have yards and even gardens, where nobody wears suits, where people exchange greetings as you pass, where eye-contact is NOT avoided, where it smells like grass that's just been cut, where older couples walk and talk about what I guess can only be good times. As such, I hit a Runner's High.

Runners always talk about the Runners' High. Although I know the feeling, I have never tried to explain exactly what it is. Before I really started running consistently, I thought a Runner's High was a physical phenomenon that you felt only after having attained a high level of physical fitness. But, I now modify the definition so that it includes certain mental, even emotional, attributes. Running, in itself, is not so interesting. It can be tedious, tiring, not to mention monotonous. But, when I reach a Runner's High, my mind ceases to dwell on all the discomforts listed above, but rather it focuses on the run itself without any thought of when it will finish, where it will finish, or when the fatigue will end. No, the Runners High is when the mind tunes into the body's rhythms, becomes fascinated with them, forgets all other minutia, and thus uses the time to enjoy the utter complexity and beauty of the human body.

Finding my new running route has been an enormously important part of this new stage of my time in Japan. I like my new routes so much that I look forward to waking up early in the morning to go running or throwing on my running shoes after a long day of work to hit the trail. Where running used to be a bit of a chore, something I did just to stay in shape or train for soccer, it's now more of a release from the stress and worry of egoism. When I hit my Runner's High, all thoughts about the day--about work, about responsibilities, about money, about life--cease to hold their solipsistic water, and I forget about everything except the toe-tap percussion of my running shoes on the ground and the breathe-in-breathe-out accompaniment of my expanding body.