i like running on the treadmill. there’s a comfort to it. the treadmill speaks to me: “i’ll do the thinking, you just run,” it says as it hums along. you don’t have to worry about anything; your mind can just chatter along on any tangent without fears of meeting a dump truck. there is usually a pack of firefighter/emt’s at my gym, so death is unlikely. and it’s always 70 degrees, a big plus in the land of heat stroke.
there’s just one problem. there is no joy in it. the highs and lows and ups and downs and weird encounters and detours and sheer fun that come from becoming a child again and charging into the unknown.
so this week i gave up and returned to the road. it’s about 90 degrees on my average run now, and i’m losing what few brain cells i had left. the road speaks to me: “what the hell are you doing out here. did you not notice that your shoe soles are melting?” i just smile.
it may not make much sense. but dang. it’s fun.
and isn’t that what running is supposed to be about in the first place?