Here's another post I started a while ago, in the second week of the pandemic, March 2020. Not sure I understood at the time just how lonely this world-wide catastrophe would make many people, just how sad the spread of disease would be, just how many victims would die. The medical advances that led to the vaccines were quite amazing, really. Not at all a "miracle" but based on solid science. But the resistance to that science suggests that we are not living in a rational world.
Nonetheless, running kept me sane.
In March 2020 I started running more than usual -- five one morning, 2.7 one afternoon, a Saturday 4 miler. And I began to remember the words in the title of this post. Apparently I had no idea where they came from -- only now, with a bit of Wikipedia research, am I tempted to look up Alan Sillitoe's 1959 short story or its subsequent British New Wave film version. But running can be lonely, that is for sure, which must be why this phrase stuck with me.
It seemed to me that as we all began to move into the odd, alternative reality of COVID-19, the key was really learning how to be in your own head, maintain "social distance" and figure out how to stay sane. Many people took up outdoor sports to cope, and running is surely the cheapest and easiest way to vary the landscape. For me, the answer was obvious.
My husband wanted to know what I was training for, and I said, "nothing, of course, there is nothing." So I set a goal -- 20 miles a week. This was a significant increase for me, and instead of running more frequently, I decided to go longer. 6 miles, 7 miles, sometimes 8 or 10 or more if it had rained during the week and I needed to finish my weekly mileage by catching up on the weekend. It became routine, and I really grooved on it. While running, I think through all kinds of problems, sometimes even invent projects, and certainly write blog posts in my head. Then I come home and set new ideas into motion.
It was a great year. Eventually that became my goal -- to run 20 miles a week on average for a year. And I did it. I became somewhat insufferable in bragging about it once the lockdown eased and we could do more casual chatting on the street. In Yellow Springs in winter, when the snows came (as they so rarely do in winter), I figured out that I could run the perimeter on streets and get to 8 miles. In Philadelphia when I visited my daughter I ran in a mask, since that was the norm there, and I managed, but in the country where I live I didn't have to -- I met almost no one when I was out and I figured that I was hardly polluting the bike path with my breath.
It's true that at one point I ran into a masturbator who exposed himself to me not once, but twice. (I had to return along the same path -- it was an out and back run, and I run without a phone, so I had no choice.) That freaked me out a little, though he was hardly dangerous, and I began to run with a partner for a while. We ran on opposite sides of the bike path and hoped we weren't endangering each other. And then I went back to running on my own. I had felt that I needed to reclaim my route, and with the help of my partner I did.
All this year I've been feeling the way my daughter used to feel during her first summer as a toddler. "Ousside!" she used to announce first thing in the morning. She just wanted to be outside. That's where things were likely to happen: beetles to find, and dogs to chase, and puddles to jump in. And that's how I have felt over the past 1.5 years. In summer I sat on my terrace, and in autumn and spring I sat in the yard. I walked to the store almost daily, biked a little, and ran my twenty miles a week.
In June 2021, though, I broke my arm and cut open my chin in a biking accident. I don't blame myself -- the road into town was crowded with traffic, and the car in front of me slammed on its brakes in a sudden decision to turn into a parking lot. I slammed on my brakes too -- and took a flying dismount onto the pavement. I keep reminding myself that I was lucky: I didn't break my nose, my teeth, a joint. I didn't need surgery or even a cast on my arm. My chin healed up pretty quickly and the scar is not very noticeable. My arm still hurts, but it's getting there.
And this caused a natural end to my 20 mile a week year.
Will I try that routine again? Maybe. It felt good, and it kept me sane. I wasn't particularly lonely, which tells us a lot about me, and I had no interest in increasing my distance. (Okay, I'm ready for another half marathon -- was scheduled to do one just six days after my accident. And I'm signed up for Thanksgiving. So we'll see.) But no marathon dreams, and I'm just as happy to have been grounded this summer.
Obsession is good, when it can be channeled. I imagine life without obsession would be better. But I won't be able to get there in this lifetime, I don't think, so I'll just muddle along in my own way.
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