On Monday, knowing I need to run, but hesitant to do it in the still-cold outdoors, I headed for the gym for the Tuesday scheduled mileage of 4-6 miles--my early workday Tuesday prevents morning runs, and Jared had gotten us tickets to a local theater's performance of "A Christmas Carol" (which, by the way, was excellent!).At the gym, I lifted, then headed for a treadmill upstairs while Jared taped another basketball playoff game. Settling in on an incline of 2, at a pace of 9-something, I chugged away, running and running, but never getting anywhere. This is the problem with treadmills--they're boring. There is nothing to distract you from the difficulty of running. No clean air to pull into your nostrils, no changing sites or smells to tinker into your subconscious, allowing your mind to stretch and lazily browse around in a multitude of topics. On a treadmill, you are only moving forward--while strangely never actually moving forward.
By the time I hit a mile, I'd realized that this was one of those days where there was nothing to do it but get it over with. I took very little enjoyment out of this run, and increased the pace a bit to be done. Ultimately, I'm happy to have slugged out four miles in a little over 37 minutes, respectable enough. Though it may not have been an enjoyable four, these are the kinds of runs that make me appreciate the other kind--the ones that are alive and fresh, and leave my spirit soaring with the realization of the limitless possibilities of the human body and spirit.
No comments:
Post a Comment