This week I come to you in two parts. The follow up will be with you on Friday.
There’s something I want to talk about.
It’s BIG.
I’m not really sure where to begin, but I know there’s a lot to say.
It’s about the Why.
The thing I hope for every time I run. The thing I’m constantly trying to engineer.
It’s an experience I want everyone to feel, whatever the medium.
For me it’s the reason to run that scythes through all others. It might be the reason to do just about anything you love.
I want to talk about...flow.
So brace yourself, it’s about to get a little bit woo-woo.
But first, a memory...
Winter. Sleet falling in icy sheaves. A flat, windless day of damp. The kind of day where nothing happens unless you thrust yourself into its dreary path.
I leave the house underdressed, needing the exposure. An idea swirls about going high and far but no decision is made. A run governed entirely by feel is always better than one with arbitrary targets.
Headphones on. My Running and Writing playlist. No distracting lyrics, just pulses and rhythm and synthetic cadences.
A mile or so of road, then through the distillery where on other days groups of tourists in the yard will turn heads as you swoop by and wonder where’s he going...and you will enjoy the sense of mystery this brings.
Now a winding path, flanked alternately by gargling burns and spindly birch, then a steep climb.
With each step you leave concrete and glass and steel behind, and enter a world of rock and clumped heather and tumbling water.
Breathing is steady, deep. Exhales are long and deliberate. Nothing is forced.
You move easily. It’s one of those days when you might never stop. Running uphill is sheer joy. You whoop in recognition, elated by the effortlessness. It’s an involuntary, animal sound, something conjured from a deep past.
Snow thickens as you rise. The cold that cuts through thin, damp layers is energising, driving you on and up.
At the top of the climb you find yourself whooping again. You're sprinting now, against all reason. There is no time or target, you’re simply responding to feel, making the most of something you don’t fully understand.
The top. A pause.
You feel it now, in your breath, in your legs. But it’s pleasure, not pain.
You pace the summit for a few seconds, too much energy to rest.
A surge of euphoria sets your mind for the descent.
Down.
Feet move rapidly over jutting rocks, steps shortened then lengthened then shortened again, stabbing at gaps and tops, flicking and darting and twisting.
Now mid air...leaping, stretching…
You take what the terrain gives, responding rather than imposing. Feet glance from rock and tuft and dirt with brush-like strokes.
Your vision narrows, blurs at the periphery. It might be tunnel vision, but that would belie your awareness, your heightened senses. Sight is just one small part of your absorption of landscape.
Mist sinks down through the valley, but losing sight of the path hardly matters. You can close your eyes for several strides without fear of falling. It’s dreamlike. Somehow your feet know where to land.
Your legs should be burning, and they might later, but right now it feels more meta than physical. Your body is just transport for the mind.
The descent narrows to a distinct trail, pockmarked with rocks and drainage ditches. There are sections of angled, stony steps, dropping rapidly away, but you dance down, letting your weight fall, knowing you will catch it.
It feels like you can see where feet will land many strides ahead. Every strike is certain, every footfall like deja vu.
Then, too quickly, the stile is in sight.
It’s an interruption, an end of sorts. You know this feeling won’t carry beyond it.
You try desperately not to break the spell, like fighting consciousness as it flickers you awake from a beautiful dream.
And then it’s over, for now.
I ran 10k a day, 6 days a week when I was in high school. Forty years later knee injuries ended my running. I'm old enough that when I asked my track coach about what I subsequently learned was runners high, he had no words to explain it, but knew what it was. I wore Adidas runners when there were no others to choose from. I have subscribed to Running High because we are (I think) in the same Substack Go group and I am curious about my fellow students. I look forward to reading about your perspective on running. Cheers!
Woo woo, Swoop, Whooping, Whoop. Advertorial?