Fits and starts. That's the best way to describe my breathing at this point. For a moment, nothing. Then suddenly I manage to gulp down a lungful of air, but it's barely enough. I try to take another and just end up choking. My lungs feel as though they are on fire; breathe in, and it feels as though they are tearing. Breath out, and they collapse, crushed and empty. I'm feeling lightheaded, I need to stop, I need to breathe. My mouth is so dry, but I’m gasping for breath so hard I'll wind up inhaling my water.
My heart rate is so high that I can't make out the individual beats. Instead I'm aware of a constant pressure in my chest, as if the heart is pushing out against my ribcage, threatening to break out. At least I can feel that. The burning sensation, the pressure. I sure as hell can’t feel anything else in my body.
My legs and arms are numb, simply dead weights that I have no control over; this is probably just as well, they seem to be doing fine by themselves, and I fear that if I did try to consciously control them, they would flail wildly.
What is it they say? Before you die, you see a light? All I can see is the light ahead of me, nothing else. My peripheral vision is just darkness now, only the light ahead of me. Head towards the light. Keep going towards the light. No, I can't keep going. This is it. The end. I'm going to die this time. Oxygen starvation, heart attack, or I'll just trip over my own damn feet and break my neck. Here we go...
Then, suddenly, a new song comes on to my mp3 player. High tempo, high energy. My vision clears, the breath comes a little easier. I've got my second wind. All those thoughts about giving up? Fuck 'em. The pain? Fuck it - no pain no gain. Keep going. And this time...
... go faster.
A few years ago, if you had said to me that I'd become a runner, I'd have laughed in your face. If you'd told me how obsessed I would become, I would have questioned your sanity. I never saw the point in simply running. Sure, running as an integral part of a sport, chasing a ball, chasing an opponent, I could get that. There is purpose, focus, direction behind the running. A goal that justifies the running. But running simply for the sake of it? That’s plain crazy.
And yet here I am now, running for the sake of running, despite the cost to my body. The pains and difficulties in breathing I've related already. But then there's the other injuries. Lost toenails, blisters, sprained ankles, and the torn ligaments. When I run, I wonder why I do it. What drives me on?
There's a hill coming up. Do I have enough energy to make it up the hill? That's not really a question. If I don't have the energy, I'll find the energy. A hill is simply a signal to kick up my heels, increase the pace and high-step it up there. Sure, it's harder work, it drains the energy, but it's the only way to take a hill. Just me and the hill. And after the hill, just me and the road. Step after step. Tarmac, grass, concrete, whatever comes my way. It's the sensation of losing yourself I think that makes it all worthwhile, that drives me on. Nothing else matters. Nothing at all. Not friends, family, love, life, pain, pleasure. I forget about the breathing, the dryness in my mouth. The pains in my joints, the pounding in my chest, all fade into the background.
There is only me, and an unknown destination. I can still see everything that is around me, but I no longer notice anything. What am I running from? Or to? Is it my life? These days the only time I feel good about myself, about the direction my life is headed, is when I run. When I put myself through all this pain. What does that say about me? I know I can't stop, because if I stop, it all catches up. The shocks and knocks and injuries I’m wracking up. The memories and problems I’m running from.
Stopping means pain. It means failure. Ultimately, it means loss. If I keep moving, I can always keep one step ahead, and even if I can't leave it all behind I can keep far enough ahead that it doesn't really matter.
But I know I do have to stop eventually. You can't run forever, although some days it sure feels like I could. When I do stop, for a time, everything will be wonderful. Elated, I will feel invincible. Until my knee begins to swell, the dull ache sharpening, forcing me to limp, rather than the confident, vigorous strides I’m used to taking. The thighs and calves will begin to cramp up. And my mind, so placid and focused before, will begin to unravel and whirl.
It is as if when my body is still and at rest, my mind is in a constant turmoil. And when my body is in full tumult, racing against my life, it is only then that I can find any inner peace.
So I ignore the pain, the damage, and I run. As much as it destroys me physically, I need that sensation. I need that peace. I can't live without it. Someday it will all catch up with me. But I suspect when it does, I'll be running so fast into the next life that I won’t notice it.
