Post #2 72 days 15 h 21 m 06 s

Running for me is a solitary sport. Friends will often comment to me how boring running is. I will admit that I too found it so in the beginning. It took years of casual running before finding true enjoyment. When I’ve tried to describe the exhilaration of a long run, I always return to the same word; “motoring”. As that word suggests I feel as if I’m being transported by means other than my body’s locomotion. Not the mechanical, combustion propelled power of a car, nor the human powered mechanics of a bicycle, “motoring” is a strange hybrid. There is the sensation of a machine even though I know it is my legs and their muscles that are transporting me. But I have no sensation of this. There is no way to feel my brain sending its electrical signals to my legs to lift the right foot, stretch out the right leg, balance with the left foot while pushing off and propel my body forward, plant the right foot absorbing the weight of my body in motion, levering over my right foot and then repeat all of this and more, much more, with the left. And repeat, and repeat, and repeat. My body is on its own and I am watching the scenery go by. I’m motoring. Perhaps this is what others may refer to as runner’s high. I don’t feel it every time I run or for the complete tenure of a run. It’s more prevalent on longer runs and is especially acute when running in new places. It is then that I’m a solitary tourist in a strange land, discovering new places, seeing the sights go by, enjoying beautiful vistas. My own steady breaths and metronome of footfalls are my company. Running is freedom.