Wednesday, April 9, 2014


With the realization that our rough winter might now be coming to a close, I spent some time this morning thinking about how I've been doing too many runs on the treadmill, too many hours staring at the wall.

This morning, after a short pre-dawn run (on the mill), I spent some quiet time sitting on the floor reflecting. I had a brief few moments remaining between a cold shower and the time when both boys start calling.

I breathed over and over listening as the air move in my nose, out my mouth. I heard the house creak and birds wake. I studied the quiet in my head. 
I came to a realization. 

I generally run on the treadmill because of time constraints, inclement weather, what seems like constant darkness, and sometimes laziness. I have lost something in this transition. On the treadmill I have to work with necessary coping mechanisms to manage the tedium. I wear headphones. I cover the screens with a shirt so I don't gasp through each dot on the little LCD track in front of me. I count songs and segments on podcasts. I'm not lost in the serenity of the activity. I'm hyper-aware of each step, each little movement of time. I have separated myself from the quiet. 

Remove the faint rhythms of feet on trail and the cadence of breath and I lose a significant part of what gets me through this day. Or the next one. Or the next week.

Without me even realizing it I've altered my meds, changing the running chemicals and dosages that keep me balanced in other areas of my life. I need to change this.

Spring is here. It's time to clear out the webs and begin that search again for those blissful quiet moments.

Why did no one tell me about these guys?