An Average, Everyday Run

This morning, while getting ready to go out for yet another base mileage run, I realized something: while I often write about my big runs, the long runs and the races, I have never written about an average, everyday base run unless something extraordinary happens. These runs make up probably three-quarters of my daily runs, but I have never written about one from start to finish, with all the little quirks and nuances that go with them. On thinking of this, I realized that this would fit my general goal for the year of practicing mindfulness, being present and aware in the moment. So I set out this morning with the goal of doing just that.

The irony, of course, is that by focusing so much on what I might write in this post I was probably more distracted and less mindful on this run that usual. I hope it was worth it.



Today was like many days, running-wise. I had a little more trouble waking up than usual. My training has again kicked up (it seems like that's always the case), and I have stayed up later than usual several times in the last week. After my normal morning rituals of meditation, writing, and catching up on the morning work details, my thoughts turn to my run.

With the additional mileage, the strength workouts, and the addition of Parkour to my workout routine, I am carrying some residual fatigue this morning. I've already run a hill workout and a longer base miles run this week, and my legs can feel it, so I leave the length of this run open-ended. It's about 30 degrees out and gloomy, chilly but not too cold, and typical for March in Minnesota. Almost two decades of running has my clothing dialed in. Tights, wool socks, a single, light layer on top, gloves, a thin hat, and the most recent addition: arm warmers. I have had one too many runs where my arms end up numb to leave these behind any more.

The ritual begins: start the GPS on my watch, grab the key, tie the shoes. Head out the back door and out the gate onto the streets.

From my house, the first mile or so of my run is always on sidewalks. Wherever I live, this is always the case. I use these minutes as a warm up, though they are actually one of the fastest-paced portions of my run. However tired my legs may be, within 5 minutes or so they start to loosen up as I take a route I've run half a thousand times before. Turn on to Summit, where the houses are massive. Past the Governor's mansion ("Does he actually live there?" I wonder for the hundredth time), and, finally, on to the path.

The ice patch in the lilacs. 

The "path" is in reality the strip of grass and trees that runs down the center of Summit. It's my bread-and-butter route, and the first section is my favorite: dual rows of lilac trees, a bane of mine when they bloom, but now bare, line the way, occasionally forcing me to duck a branch as I run between them. In the winter, cardinals use this as a roosting spot, and the flash of their red feathers lends a spark of color in an otherwise drab winter world.

Today, the path between the trees is icy, and I have to pick my way down the trail. I could wear my winter shoes, which have sheet metal screws in their soles for traction, but I know from yesterday that this is the only section of ice on the run. That, and a winter's worth of running has worn the screws to the point of irrelevance.

Only one cardinal today.

On down the center of Summit, and up a shallow hill beneath some evergreen trees. The stoplights on this road come exactly every half mile, a fact I use to my advantage when I am doing interval workouts, but today is an irritant. My pace, which sits between 7:20 and 7:40 on the pavement, has dropped to around 8 minutes per mile, a comfortable, natural pace that I can sustain for hours.

I check worriedly for my house key.  It feel out of my pocket a few months ago, on a cold, rainy run on this same route. Ever since then, I have been somewhat paranoid. Whew, it's there. But my drawstring has come untied. Fix that, without breaking stride. Continue running.

Summit is one of the most popular running routes in the Cities, and I can count on one hand the runs that I have not seen another runner. I wonder, though, why so many run on the sidewalks when this strip in the center is so much more pleasant. This is especially pronounced in the winter, where I will often find my footprints from the day before undisturbed in the snow. Today, though, the first runner I see (older, wearing a yellow windbreaker and flannel pajama pants) comes towards me on the same center path.

"Morning."

And on we go.

I have had people ask me, more than a few times, "do you run with music?"

It seems a silly question to me. I presume they are asking "do you run while listening to music, on headphones?" The answer to that is unequivocally "No." But why should that mean I don't run with music. I always have a song going through my head when I run. Today, it's "Bouncin Round the Room," by Phish. It's a song I haven't listened to since college, and I have no clue where it came from today. But there it is: the never-ending round running through my head.

Another stoplight, and then it's on with my run. The path takes a downhill slant, past the college where my parents and my brother went to school. Where my parents got married. Where I almost went. Not for the first time, I wonder if I made the right decision.

I decide to turn around at the next stoplight. No matter if my run is an out-and-back, I always make a tiny loop when I turn around. Sometimes it's around a tree, others a post. Even a man-hole cover will suffice if there's no other landmark. Here, there's a young evergreen that provides a nice looping point to head back up the hill.

Going back the other way, I see differently than I do on the way out. I notice different things. The hill seems a lot steeper on the way back up, though it would not even qualify as a hill in Colorado. I run in a slightly different track, just to mix things up.

I pass my favorite tree. I only really notice it on the way back. It's a big evergreen, with conveniently-large, and sparse, branches poking out at all angles. Some days, I'll stop and do a mini strength workout. I'll do pull-ups on one branch, rows on another, or if I'm ambitious, I'll scramble up as high as I can go. In this tree, I can make it 25 feet or so before the branches start to taper to questionable thickness. Today, though, I already have a strength workout planned for later, so I keep running.

Back towards the lilacs, I decide to skip the ice, and run between the trees and the street.  It's off-camber, but preferable to slipping and possible injury. At yet another stoplight, I jump, grab a crossbar, and do pull-ups until the light turns green. I never used to do this, but it has recently become a ritual for me. It gets some odd looks, but I get a lot of those.

On the sidewalks again, I turn off Summit sooner than I need to. I don't know why I started doing this. I probably just did so one day, to avoid an obstruction on the sidewalk, and I got stuck. I simply jog over one block and back onto the same heading.

In the last mile, I decide to throw in some surges. Form intervals. For 15-30 seconds, I drop the pace to a near-sprint, stretching out my legs and covering ground. These are not to get a workout, just to work on my running efficiency and keep the spring in my legs. Three to four of those, and I'm almost home.

I have a rock stuck in the treads of my shoe. Every other step is accompanied by a small, sharp grating sound. I last a half-block before I have to stop and dig it out. Stubborn little thing requires a stick to pry it out of there. But I am back.

Stop the GPS, walk through the gate, and move on with the day.





And, that's an average, every day run. Stylistically, that's a lot like how my mind works during a run. Sometimes, it goes on long, abstract ramblings. Other times, it's short at to the point.

I hope you enjoyed it, or at least found it interesting.