Long Runs #3: 10 Miles/10 Thoughts

Mapping my thoughts.

This week I set out to answer a question I ask myself often: and what do I even think about while I’m running?

I know I am out there, for however long, taking things in and processing them and spitting something out, carving out some new neural pathways, producing some original thoughts, but whenever I finish a run that is better than bad (a run where I am not just thinking “when will this be over” or “I hate this” the entire time) I feel as if I’ve just exited a fugue state. I have my stats, the map of where I’ve physically gone, and the sweat stains to prove that I’ve just done something, but I have no real memory of what I was actually thinking about. If I listened to music, I can usually piece together what I listened to where, but if not, it’s all lost to me. A dream state. An hour and a half of nothing. And this is in many ways wonderful, the reason why I run: when else am I not churning through a million thoughts per minute? But it’s also strange: what is even going on up there?

And so yesterday, ahead of my headphone-free 10-mile run around Prospect Park, I decided to write down one note every mile. They are as follows (unedited):

1. saw a man in a LOVE hat and shirt that said Compassion Gratitude Love Love Love . intention setting. clouds are looking menacing however

2. saw a man collapse exactly at 1.00… he is responsive and people are calling an ambulance. what is my obligation as a witness?

3. don’t think about distance don’t think about time. enjoy the downhill and that it’s overcast. so many fascinating gaits out here

4. so many groups in coordinated shirts. volunteers in purple bike racers in blue marines in red “running souls” run club in green. need to get away from people whose breathing i can hear

5. ran past woman telling her friend “and then i call them, tears in my eyes, and i feel so off kilter. can’t even tell you how off i feel” :(

6. notes on wildlife: a dog that is absolutely a wolf, a man running in full length dark wash jeans

7. i wish i could run with my eyes closed. at the marines again and they’re just barking YES SIR! i am basically almost done

8. tell a girl her three little puppies are cute because they are and say “i wish” when she says they’re fosters and you can adopt one

9. study rollerbladers to know what should feel like coasting and what should feel like work. turn around to finish downhill

10. the sun is now out and i’m glad i don’t have to be for much longer

When I looked back at these at the end of my run, mega Diet Coke from the new Sonic in my neighborhood in hand, many of them surprised me. I’d forgotten about the “fascinating gaits” and my “intention setting” and the big wolfish dog. Lena pointed out that they’re all very observational, that I’m not thinking about myself or what I’m doing, that in fact, I am trying very hard not to: don’t think about distance don’t think about time. I don’t know why miles 8 and 9 are in the second person. Endorphin-induced disassociation? Evidence of “runner’s high”? Maybe. Who can say. Fun to see nonetheless.

I like this as a project, and I’m curious to see how different my thoughts are when I’m not just looping the same park for an hour and a half. Perhaps I try to find out during the 11 miles I have on deck next weekend! Or not.

This week in running: the 10 miler redeemed a week of otherwise miserable runs. 1 tempo, 1 easy, 1 with intervals. All completed begrudgingly and rated with a thumbs-down on the Runna app, which I’m using for my training plan.

From Who Will Run the Frog Hospital? by Lorrie Moore. Not about running, but exactly: “no stories, no ideas, not really, not yet… liquid, like a song—nothing much. It was just a space with some people in it.”