Experiments

At a party last week someone asked me what it was like to run long distances – really they were asking why anyone would do this.  I wasn’t able to reply very coherently and muttered something about The Wall without explaining why it’s important. This morning, I realised that what I ought to have answered last week was that you gain a tremendous feeling of confidence and control from extending your boundaries.  You go through a curious argument with yourself , with one side driven to to go further or longer; while the other side finds good reason not to – it’s too tiring or too dangerous dangerous or you haven’t the time.  Then you just do go further or longer, and for  short while you’re conscious of this, and perhaps feel a little pleased, until another milestone pops up on the horizon, and the whole argument starts all over again. 

There’s no need to proclaim achievement in this; there’s no winning as there’s no race and so no one to beat;  it isn’t connected with generating praise or public esteem as there’s no one to tell.  It’s a little like yoga in that respect, even though it’s not usually something you can do completely out of the public eye, so people might recognise you while you’re en route.  However, they’ll have no idea how far you’ve run or swum or how much further you will continue to run (and you won’t tell them).  It’s a deliciously private realm of non-competitive rival-less achievement. 

And between the milestone wrangles there’s the hypnotic quality to the exercise itself.  Miles and miles of which you have little recollection, rather like driving on a motorway; hours in which you can think uninterrupted – or during which you don’t think, but instead, amble through and around  random ideas.  This kind of disconnection must be good for one.