Running is meditation

 I tie up my laces on my trainers and make to set off. Another 10k lies ahead of me. An hour of solace. An hour of not thinking at all. Well, there is some thinking to be done- the metronomic pounding of my feet on pavement. Something stops me in my tracks before I’ve even set off. My wrist feels empty. My watch is in my drawer instead of being strapped to my wrist. I do claim to be a minimalist, certainly a running minimalist but there are some things that I cannot run without. My watch is one of them. I’m happy to admit that I do want, no I need to know how far I have run. I need to know how fast I’m going, how many minutes I’m averaging. It might seem trivial but it’s important to me. 

As far as tech goes, beyond listening to my music through my phone, that’s about it. I’m wary about over cooking this but running, to me, is much more than times and having access to how many calories I’ve burnt. Running is the constant challenge to yourself. Aspects of every run are challenging- whether it’s a punishing incline after a flat trot around a reservoir or the mental wrestling match you play with your brain every time you feel too exhausted to continue. 

Running is a journey and I don’t just mean in terms of distance. I will usually set off, watch on wrist (!) and feel like a tin man, berating myself for not doing enough stretching or foam rolling at the end of my previous run. It takes me a while to settle in to a run and I’m looking to establish a rhythm early on. In fact, the embryonic stages of my runs are usually the most painful. In these moments I fear the rest of the journey such is the discomfort. If it’s painful now, what will it feel like after four, five or six miles? 

The answer is- nowhere near as bad. As my body settles into a rhythm, a metronomic feeling when my breathing, arms and legs are in sync, working in unison, the pain seems to disappear replaced by a calmer, serene focus on just the next few metres. My breathing slows to a calm, controlled rate, my eyes focus on a distant tree, then a telegraph pole, maybe an abandoned telephone box. I have for years maintained that this part of my runs feel hypnotic, meditative even. I am doing a whole lot of nothing. It’s like I’m sleeping with my eyes open. My brain is empty but empty in brilliant, glorious, technicolour. My body is breathing, my heart beating- they are looking after themselves. I’m pain free, I feel great, my brain isn’t thinking of work deadlines or my bank account. Running empties and fills my brain all at the same time. The cells undergo a defragmentation, relieving themselves of needless information and rearranging the important stuff. This emptiness, rearranging, limbs working in unison, is meditation- no wonder you feel so good after a run.