Being There, not Getting There

Accomplishments are made by Being There, in the moment, right now. A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. A building of a hundred storeys begins with a single brick. In that thousand mile journey, the single step must be taken. The step must be a good step. A conscious step. A well-formed, intelligent, purposeful step. Concentrate on the step. The one that you're taking. Don't worry about the thousandth one. You need to take the first single step, and then, when that one's finished, work on taking another one. And when you're placing that first brick, you must ensure that the brick is properly aligned, squared, seated well, in recognition of the fact that it is the foundation of many bricks to come. But don't worry about the second, third or thousandth brick when you're placing the first one. Don't worry about Getting There. Just Be There.

I've been pushing my mileage upwards and I'm now doing at least 130 K weekly. It isn't as hard as I'd once imagined. My weekday runs before work are about 14 K and I'm able to push a couple of long 3 hour runs on the weekend.

The running is meditative. Initially, when I started this whole thing, to get fit and to get back into running marathons, the training was difficult. I was doing morning runs, getting up initially at 5:30 AM to hit the road by 6, then later on as I got fitter, getting up at 5:00 AM to give myself some extra time as the runs got slightly longer. Also, running from 6:00 AM to 7:15 or so didn't give me enough time to cool off, rest and get ready for work. 5:00 AM waking time seemed to be better.

Another reason for the morning run was to simply get it over with. Once it was done, well, it was done. I could proceed with the day comfortably. Although running in the evening would have been more comfortable, the thought of finishing an entire day in the office, coming home tired and then motivating myself to get out of the door again would have added extra emotional stress. Morning running has proved to be highly successful for me.

Weekends are more relaxing and so I stretched the distance a little more. Once again, I started with Saturday and Sunday longer runs, 16K. By the end of February, it was 20K on both Saturday and Sunday.

But from my previous training, I know that the true long run is closer to 30K, and so one day, I ran a Saturday 32K followed by a Sunday 20K. I was always drained at the end of the weekend but surprised myself when I could get up and do my weekly morning mileage. The next weekend, I tried a back-to-back 32K weekend. I dreaded Saturday's since they meant long mileage. 20K was comfortably manageable, but 32K is a different beast. By the 25th K, my muscles had already tightened up. I'd finished my water and the energy gels that I carried, also finished, weren't helping. But I kept it up. The start of the run was always difficult, muscles sore from the weekly mileage, but after about 4K loose and easy. The run up to about 14K with a bit of exertion. The 14K to 20K leg was always tough. Fighting to push on, but somewhere around 22K finding my legs again for a short while. Always back and forth. Feeling like I just can't go on another step and then somehow finding something inside me to keep stepping forward.

And going through my head, most of the time, was a desire to get to the end. Finish this. How long will it take to get home. The music from my mp3 player more a distraction, to keep the pain away. From time to time, there are moments of joy. No pain, easy running. I want to hold on to those for as long as I can. I hold onto those moments. Breathe them in. Try to make them last long. And it is in those moments that I realise what being there is all about. During those moments, I'm not thinking about the finish line. I know it will come, and it will come easily, if I can just stay this way. If I can forget about running to the finish line, running to get to my home, running to the top of this hill, if I can forget about running to that place up ahead, and just stay where I am, feeling what I'm feeling, then that place that I'm really running to will come.

When I'm in my kitchen, preparing dinner, and I'm taking food out of the fridge, chopping vegetables, moving around, not really wanting to be there, perhaps, slightly engaged, but understanding fully the reason that I'm there. I'm not there to chop vegetables, cut up and season the meat, prepare a salad, grill something, I'm there to finish cooking. It's the thing at the end that's important. This stuff that I'm doing to get there's important, but not in and of itself. I'd rather be settled and eating dinner, settled and watching television, settled and listening to music, settled, just settled.

But the cutting of those vegetables is a moment in itself. They'll take time. Peeling potatoes will also take time. Moving through each and every item will have it's own time, but unfortunately, much of that time might be spent unconscious. Later, when someone asks, "how did you make this lovely meal?" You'll reply, "I just threw in this-and-that, tossed this-and-that, shoved everything into this and it was done." The details won't be remembered, because you were unconscious.

When you run, it's all about being there, not getting there. You'll get there, eventually. The journey will only be that much more enjoyable if you stay where you are.