There was a time not so long ago when I avoided the
treadmill like a cold-fingered dentist. What was up with that? Running like a
hamster in a cage when I could be outside. Especially on brilliant June days
like the ones we’ve been blessed with this year.
Now – and it’s funny that word, isn’t it? Now carries with
it such weight. Imputed is the idea of change, before and after. We like to
think of our early self as being available to us. But no. It’s an illusion. We
have only impressions of what we believed, or were feeling; some of us, of
course, are pretty damn certain they would recognize, maybe even embrace, that
early self if by some trick or fantasy they were to encounter her, on the
subway, say, or in line at the bank.
Me, I’m wary of the trusting and prideful. Truth is, I’ve only got a fleeting sense of
the now. And I consider myself a thoughtful person.
After all that – Now, following decades of running, I’m not
the guy who started, just out the door, in shoes with worn soles, an ill-fitting
cap, ratty T. Now, I’m in runner shorts, a tank top in summer months, a cap
that soaks up sweat at the brim, compression calf socks to ward off shin
splints, patella stabilizing Velcro pads below my knees, lightweight runner socks,
newish Brooks neutral-strike running shoes, which inside contain custom-made
orthotics for recurrent left foot pain during extra-long runs, each item of gear like sacral garments that
I put on slowly, like a priest does as he begins the day, putting on the
layers, moving through the rhythms that hold the meaning that comes from a
devotion to time-tested repetition.
It’s why sometimes it’s not the outdoors I need but the
treadmill. It never used to be the case, but now it is. I’ll need to put in,
say, six miles, and even if it’s beautiful and not stinking hot and humid out
as it has been this last week or so (July 10 through 16), I head to the
treadmill, ramp it up to, say, an 8:40-per-mile pace, about twenty seconds per
mile faster than I intend to run a week Sunday (July 27) at the Nova Scotia
Marathon, and run. I don’t listen to music, let the strings of earbuds dangle at
my side. I run with that fleeting sense of now, the past, and yes, the future.
Next: Running for Your Life: Days Before the Race!
