It’s midday on Friday, May 17th and the sun is beating down on the foothills of the Sandias. These May temperatures are beginning to flirt with full blown summer heat.
Is a six-foot-two-inch man running alone, at full speed, and shouting motivational things at himself ridiculous? Yes. Is it effective? Absolutely.
My lungs are on fire, burning as hot as the mid-day desert sun that is ruthlessly beating down on me. My heart rate is toeing the line of dangerous, my quads are already sore, and my chest is cramped. I’m only one mile into this, but I’m determined to power through. For some reason, every single time that I run I am amazed that it’s still hard. I guess each time I come back to it I just assume that I’ve developed a cardiovascular superpower in the interim. The definition of insanity applies a bit too closely for my liking to my expectations of how I’ll perform on my runs. Today, I’m not listening to any music or podcasts; I don’t even have my phone with me. It’s my thoughts versus my thoughts. Quit or get stronger. I have to talk myself out of quitting pretty much every single time on the first mile of any run. Honestly, for a long time I have been a quitter and this is a pattern I am actively trying to break. I want to be a person who sets a goal in his head and meets that goal, whatever the barriers or obstacles may be.
I’m running at my breaking point. “They don’t know me son,” I half-scream, timidly. The words are quickly whisked away by the wind. It feels a little ridiculous. The voice isn’t mine, it’s just a mimicry of nails-for-breakfast type youtube motivational videos I’ve seen. The distraction is nice though. Something to focus on other than the pain that running is.
“They don’t make them like me anymore,” I yell through my panting breath, a little louder this time. No one is around me, I can be as ridiculous as I really want. All in now, I let out a Ric-Flair-Woooo.
I know it’s ridiculous, but it’s actually working. The more I yell, the more I don’t care. The less important it feels to look around to make sure no is in earshot. I feel lighter on my feet, like my legs are an engine and I’m merely a passenger along for the ride.
The biggest draw of the outdoors for me is shedding the expectations, rules, and repetitiveness of society. It’s crumpling up all the right-angles, traffic lights, and collared shirts into a ball and tossing it to the side like a broken toy.
My heart rate is now one-ninety-five. The more I push my limit, the bigger the present moment becomes. It blocks out the past, the future, any worry, any fear. Everything is right here, right now. The blue sky above me expands forever, the earth under my feet supports me indefinitely, and my legs will never slow. This moment is everything, or it is nothing.
When I get within the last half mile of my run I can taste the finish line. The bliss of completion, of reprieve, starts to creep into my body. I found something within myself today. I’m normally so reliant on outside sources for motivation, direction, or encouragement. It’s honestly a euphoric feeling to know I pushed myself through this entire run on just my thoughts.
Yes, I think it’s ridiculous, borderline concerning, to be the guy who runs through the wilderness screaming at nothing. However, that might just be the point. There is freedom in the absurd. There is power in being.
I pass back through the gate at the end of the trail and churn my legs slowly to a stop. I try to keep walking, but I have to stop for a minute and just rest hunched over with my hands on my knees. I feel my blood pumping through my entire body, my temples are pounding, and my chest is beating audibly. Alternating between hunching over and walking then walking a few steps, I do my best to get through the next few minutes without throwing up. My efforts are a success, thankfully. When my heart rate falls back down into the one-fifties I start to feel human again. Able to stand upright now, I walk the last couple hundred feet back to my car in the parking lot. The post-run clarity and endorphin rush feels incredible.