As soon as I saw the Insta post (above) by Kelowna runner and mental health advocate, Christy Lovig, I rushed to a grab a notebook and jot down my thoughts. In the past, my claim that running without music, a podcast, or an audiobook is a wonderful experience has fallen, more often than not, on ears that have AirPods lodged in them. “Why,” a friend might say, “would I turn down the pleasure of listening to music that I love for the drudgery of noticing my laboured breathing?”
Here’s why. Unless we live in a monastery ruled by vows of silence, most of us live noisy lives. Text messages, emails, meetings, work tasks, domestic labour–all keep us listening for the next thing we must attend to in a state of vigilance and, often, high stress. The stimulation of our screens keeps the mind revving, the privacy of our thoughts invaded, over and over again, by the lighting up of a phone, the appearance of a badge on a laptop. A run without a phone separates me from all of this. I run early and the silence of the morning, before the rest of the world wakes up, is like a warm blanket after a chilly swim. My mind stops shivering and starts to settle, to notice all the world has on offer: the soft quietness of fresh snow, bird song in the spring, the smell of fresh-cut grass. Were I in a library, another quiet space that I enjoy, I would rustle my thoughts into focused attention. On my runs, a thought drifts in, but I don’t try to hold on to it. Without some kind of tool to fix it in place—a pencil, a keyboard—there’s no point. Thoughts, feelings, plans, and memories rise and fall like waves.
I won’t lie: staring down a long run alone can be daunting. I sometimes ask myself, “How on earth am I going to get through the next three hours? I’m going to be so bored!” The miles stretch out in front of me. I have learned to simply start and let the miles, and the hours, take care of themselves. And to trust that, when I finish the run, I’m going to find myself renewed in ways I can never quite anticipate—mostly, calmer and happier, even in the absence of any answers to the problems of that week, or day.
While in Vancouver last weekend, I ran the seawall and took note of how many solo runners had ear buds in—about 99%. I’m sure they were enjoying their weekend run, catching up on tunes or news or stories they want to hear. But I wondered if they weren’t missing an alternative kind of catch up, one that might restore their sense of self in a different way.
Just a thought.
