Grounding

There seems to be a tendency toward more and more complexity these days—heck, I suppose since the Industrial Revolution.  Supposedly our lives are to improve in correlation with advancements in technology.  Much ink has been spilled challenging this assumption, of course, and I agree.  As a Gen Xer, I am of the last generation of people to not have grown up with the pervasiveness of the Internet, or even computers for the most part, not to mention cell phones and other fingertip information sources.  I dabbled with the Apple IIe in high school, but for the most part read books, used pencils, and cut and pasted with real scissors and glue.  My first year of college saw the emergence of Internet mania…and the rest is history. 

Yet somehow Kelly and I and many of our friends have managed to rein in the otherwise automatic downhill snowball of ever expanding technology and "stuff."  It’s odd, as though tasting the unplugged life of our youth has made it extra-hard to jump into “connection” with both feet, or perhaps easier to see the futility in it?  This blog is about my limit. 

So what about running?  I think this spiritual bent toward uncluttered living is why I like running so much.  I have nothing against cyclists, kayakers, rugged campers and hikers, and the like.  But similar to other areas of life, I just can’t manage to benefit spiritually from that level of complexity.  Yes, even hopping on a bike feels complex to me in a spiritual sense.  It’s too lofty….literally, a couple feet off the ground.

As Parker Palmer likes to say, "I have to be on the ground if I want to be grounded."

I like that with running I am literally in contact with a planet.  I’m running, just me, on the surface of Earth.  We oooh and aaah at moon land footage, yet fail to realize how we get to trot around a planet everyday, free as larks, unencumbered by equipment and breathing apparatus! (at least those of us who are able-bodied). 

I like that with running it is just me, my whole body, no machine to mediate my relationship with the ground, no machine adding to my momentum, just me moving forward. 

I like that the only way to “change gears” is to tap a resource inside myself—there is no other source of aid. 

I like the experience of moving through my route within the human range of travel.  Meaning, a human can only get so far in an hour on foot, and that limited pace makes possible an interaction with the environment that mechanized travel does not. 

Having a white collar job, I like feeling tired and satisfied after a run, like taking a car out for a good cruise to tap its potential instead of sitting at idle all day.

I like brushing a car mirror downtown with my arm, and getting swapped in the arm with a branch in the woods. 

I like opening my door and going, no matter where I am, no limits, just me and the ground. 

I like the interaction with others along the way.

I like having quiet time with just me and my breath. 

I like how I can gain clarity in 1 mile on an issue that has stumped me all day. 

I like how I can push into new territory of endurance that is like discovery a lost chapter to a favorite book--like, "oh wow, there's more!"